Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter 1: First meeting

The apartment somehow felt smaller tonight.

The walls around him felt like they were pressing in on him, threatening. Suffocating. It was always like this. Most nights he could bear it, laying in his bed staring at the ceiling until exhaustion finally stole him away. But tonight, In-ho couldn’t stand it. His racing thoughts. The heavy weight on his chest. It was unbearable. 

Before he could think, he was up and moving. He shoved on his shoes, grabbed his keys, and pulled on a coat before he stepped out into the night. Maybe he could outrun the clawing in his ribs. Maybe the fresh air would do him some good.

He didn’t notice the way the air had thickened around him; how the sky was dark and heavy holding unfallen rain. He just simply walked fast, aimless and desperate to get out.

The streets were quieter than usual; the threat of a downpour enough to keep people indoors rather than to take a daring night stroll. He barely registered the occasional passing figure. He was too caught up in his own determination to keep walking. To keep running. His breathing was shallow, his hands shoved deep into his pockets as though it could keep him tethered to something tangible. Tethered to something real.

Suddenly there was a loud crack like a whip, sharp and sudden. The windows of the nearby buildings rattled around him from the force of it. Thunder. In-ho paused in his tracks, the sound enough to pull him from his racing mind. He turns his face towards the sky, studying the dark clouds which seem to stare back at him. Unmoving, unchanging. 

Then, without warning, the sky seemed to finally split open. Lightning cracks across the dark clouds, and fat raindrops hit In-ho’s face making him flinch. He curses at himself for remembering his coat, but foolishly forgetting an umbrella. On instinct, his eyes search around him, settling on the faint glow of a flower shop on the corner in front of him. He’s passed it before on his walks, but never paid it any mind. Without thinking, he hurriedly rushes forward and pushes his way through the door.

The bell above the door makes a soft jingling sound as he enters. Inside, the sweet scent of flowers and damp earth envelopes him, feeling familiar and yet foreign at the same time. He hadn’t been around flowers since– he swallowed. A long time.

Behind the counter, a man looks up at him curiously, holding a vase of flowers that In-ho recognizes as daisies. His hair is tousled, various petals clinging to the stray locks. He sets the vase down carefully, his eyes darting from the door then back to In-ho’s form. He looks confused for a moment before he breathes out a small laugh. 

“Must have forgotten to lock the door again,” the man says casually, wiping his hands on his already dirtied apron.

In-ho stares at him dumbly, blinking a few times before the realization of what he says finally hits him. “I didn’t see the sign, I apologize–” The man– Seong Gi-hun according to his name tag that In-ho finally notices– waves him off. 

“It’s fine! What kind of shopkeeper would I be to turn away a customer in need.” Gi-hun smiles and gives In-ho a proper once over now. He quirks a brow, his expression turning more serious. “Let me guess– a lovers’ quarrel perhaps? Need something quick to smooth things over? I have some roses in the back. Every color you could possibly think of. I’m sure I could whip something up real quick.” 

In-ho lets out a shaky breath. His fingers curl into his palms, nails pressing so hard he’s sure he’s leaving marks. “No,” he says, his voice coming out quieter than he meant it to. “That’s not the case.” 

Gi-hun’s expression softens a bit, understanding painting his features. In-ho braces himself for the pitying look and apology that usually follows when people piece together what’s happened to him. The awkward pause and murmured “ I’m sorry" does nothing but make his skin crawl. But as the seconds stretch, it doesn’t come.

Instead Gi-hun continues to smile softly at him before his expression lights up like he’s pieced something together. “Then you must be here for the job!” The sudden excitement in his tone throws In-ho off. His body untenses, no longer braced. But now confusion has taken hold of him. A job? He glances at the window, and sure enough he sees a few yellow papers taped up on the glass. Even from inside he can make out the hastily scribbled “help wanted” in marker. It almost makes In-ho laugh. Who advertises a job like that nowadays?

In-ho turns back to Gi-hun ready to clear up the misunderstanding, but finds the man has already disappeared into the back. He debates for a moment if it might be worth it to duck out of the shop before Gi-hun reappears just to avoid the awkward conversation. His hand grasps at the handle of the door, gripping it tightly. But something keeps him standing there, hesitating. He exhales sharply through his nose before shaking his head at himself, his grip loosening before his hand falls back to his side. He at least owes the man an explanation, especially for barging in while he was closed. A simple “I’m sorry, there’s been a misunderstanding,” and then he’s gone. 

Before he can think of what he wants to say exactly, Gi-hun reappears from the back, pen and paper in hand. “Alright! Just the usual stuff. Your name, contact info, allergies– Oh you aren’t allergic to any flowers are you? Can’t have you sneezing all over the place. Though, heh, that would be kind of funny–”

“I–” In-ho opens his mouth but then soon shuts it as he finds the words won’t come out. Gi-hun is looking at him with such an earnest expression. The words knot in his throat making it impossible for him to do anything more than simply stare foolishly and nod as Gi-hun continues to talk excitedly at him. 

“Well, any questions for me?” Gi-hun asks suddenly, looking expectantly at In-ho. 

Questions?

In-ho swallows nervously. Should he have questions? He feels like he’s barely caught even half of what Gi-hun has been rattling on about. His brain was too busy, caught up in the whirlwind of Gi-hun’s energy and his own panic. Some basic questions come to his mind. What’s the pay like? What are the rules, the expectations? But, why bother to ask those questions when surely In-ho just simply won’t come back. Even still, maybe he should ask a simple question so he doesn’t just stand there like a fool. He should say something. Anything really. 

Instead he just shakes his head.

Gi-hun grins, his enthusiasm palpable. “Okay great! That makes things much easier– Oh wait! I guess I should probably ask your name, huh?” 

In-ho stiffens. Right, his name. An easy question. 

Except his mind is still racing, thinking of questions he should have asked, trying to think of ways to get out of this entire situation. So for a brief moment, he forgets.

“... Hwang. Hwang In-ho.” It comes out stilted and slow. He wishes he could slam his head into the nearest wall. 

Gi-hun doesn’t seem to notice his hesitation. If anything, he seems to beam even brighter at him. “In-ho! Great. It’s nice to meet you. Say, I know this is sudden, but do you think you could come in the day after tomorrow? You could bring the paperwork back then, too. Wednesdays are pretty slow, so it’ll be easy to show you the ropes of everything.” 

This is his out. All he has to do is say no right now and proceed to walk out the door. He’s let this situation spiral out of control enough. And yet his mouth doesn’t open. He simply nods his head which makes Gi-hun light up and clasp his hands together like it’s the best news he’s heard all day. 

“I knew you’d say yes,” Gi-hun says, and In-ho fights the urge to sigh loudly. His eyes dart towards the door, his hand itching to reach for the handle. Maybe the cold snap of rain might clear his head. 

Before he can reach for the handle, Gi-hun’s voice pipes up behind him.

“Well, I better finish up my closing then– Oh.” Gi-hun steps closer to In-ho, but his gaze is focused on the window. “Wow. It’s really coming down huh? You don’t have an umbrella do you?” Gi-hun turns to look at In-ho who feels frozen under his gaze. 

“No. I don’t.” In-ho says, his voice sounding strained and tired. 

Gi-hun’s already turning back to the shop’s backroom. “Let me get mine, no sense in letting you get drenched.” He disappears into the back for a moment before quickly reappearing with a black umbrella in hand. “Here. My place is only a few minutes away anyways. You can just bring it back when you come to work next!” 

“...Thank you,” In-ho manages after a moment, taking the worn handle of the umbrella in his hand. 

Gi-hun grins at him. “No problem. See you on Wednesday then?” 

In-ho doesn’t respond, just gives another short nod because it’s easier than saying no. He pushes the door open before Gi-hun can say anything further to him. The bell jingles softly behind him as he steps out into the downpour, the rain washing away the warmth of the flower shop from his skin. In-ho sighs, then opens the umbrella and starts walking. 

Thankfully it's only a fifteen minute walk back to his apartment. His mind barely even registers the journey, too busy replaying the strange and unintentional way the evening had unfolded. He really should have spoken up, but he found himself too caught up in Gi-hun’s energy, his genuine excitement taking him completely off guard. He finds himself letting out a small laugh at the absurdity of it all. 

But it’s fine, he doesn’t have to go back. It would be okay; Gi-hun would figure it out eventually and chalk it up to a misunderstanding. He could easily avoid the flower shop on his walks. It’s not like he would be needing flowers anytime soon, if ever. 

That thought settles in his mind as he enters his small apartment, clicking the door shut behind him and shaking the rain from his coat. He leans the umbrella against the wall near the door, ready to forget the entire encounter and settle back into his same suffocating routine.

But then, he notices them. 

Stubbornly clinging to the fabric of the umbrella, there are a few stray petals. Pale white and soft, trembling slightly from the warm air of the apartment. 

In-ho’s mind flickers back to the shop. To Gi-hun. To the unnoticed petals clinging to the man’s hair as he spoke and smiled, bustling around like a force of nature.

In-ho exhales slowly before running a hand down his face.

Well.

He does need to return the umbrella. 

Chapter Text

Chapter 2: First Day

Tuesday stretches on longer than it should. 

In-ho tries not to think of the shop. He tries desperately not to think of Gi-hun and the stupid job he didn’t even mean to take in the first place. But as the day drags on, it nags in his mind. 

 Gi-hun did not specify what time In-ho was supposed to return to the store. It shouldn’t matter. It didn’t matter. And yet, In-ho continuously stares at his phone screen throughout the day. It was easy enough to find the place. There aren’t many local florists near him anyway. Ga-yeong’s Flowers. He briefly wonders who Gi-hun must have named the shop after, but there isn’t any information on the website he finds; just a handful of pictures of vibrant floral arrangements and photos of the shop itself. He does find the hours, though the website doesn’t make it easy. It's listed that they open at eight. Does that mean Gi-hun wants him there at eight? That seemed too early, surely nobody would bother with flowers at eight in the morning. So then nine? Ten? 

He should just call and ask. The number is listed underneath the hours. It would take less than a minute. His finger hovers over the number, but he can’t bring himself to actually press down. 

He sighs loudly, before he finally locks his phone and tosses it out of his sight. Why was he getting so worked up about this? It’s not like he was actually going to be working there. 

That thought should have been reassuring. But for some reason it made him feel worse. 

___________________________

By the time Wednesday comes around, he’s decided on midmorning. It seemed the most logical thing to do. It would be late enough that the shop would already be up and running and early enough that he wouldn’t seem lazy, if for some unknown reason he did decide to go through with this. 

Even still, he tells himself that he’s only here to return the umbrella. That’s all. 
But now, standing in front of the shop, he couldn’t seem to move.

Through the window he could see the warm interior, the soft light filtering through the leaves and petals of plants, and bouquets that sat row after row. Even without being amongst the greenery, he could still remember the smell from inside the shop. Earthy and sweet; lively and familiar. 

In-ho’s grip tightened on the handle of the black umbrella in his hand. He found himself yearning to go inside, to let that comforting smell envelop him once again. All he had to do was push the door open. 

And yet, he still hesitated. 

He could hear the muffled sounds of the city behind him. Cars rolling through the streets, people chattering as they walked by. It would be so easy to leave and not come back. To disappear within the crowds of people after leaving the umbrella leaning against the door of the shop. To never see this place again; to never see Gi-hun again.

Before he can act, there’s movement behind the window, and the door to the shop swings open. In-ho has a brief moment of panic, fighting the urge to drop the umbrella and quickly turn away and avoid an encounter with whoever it might be. 

“Oh! You’re here!” 

Gi-hun’s voice carries the same bright enthusiasm as it did two nights ago, like he’s been waiting for In-ho this entire time. He’s standing in the door frame with a pleased look on his face. His sleeves are rolled up and his hair is slightly mussed– like he’s been running his hands through it absentmindedly. 

In-ho’s first instinct is to retreat, to mutter an excuse and shove the umbrella into Gi-hun’s hands before this encounter can go any further. But before he can do just that, Gi-hun’s already stepping back and motioning him inside. 

“Come on in. I actually just finished setting up for the day. You have perfect timing.” 

Perfect timing. 

In-ho swallows, his grip tightening on the umbrella in his hand. Every logical part of his brain was telling him to leave, to explain himself and go. Instead, he found himself stepping inside.

Inside the store is warm. The smell is the same from a few nights ago, only stronger from the fresher flowers that surround him. The entire store is bathed in a gentle golden light filtering in through the high windows, casting soft shadows on the rows of newly potted plants in the middle of the store. Bouquets sit on counters, though not in any particular order– pops of pale pinks, bright oranges, and deep reds contrasting against the dark wood. Some were wrapped neatly in paper or arranged nicely in vases; others were not– clearly forgotten for another task or idea that struck the maker’s mind in the moment, making them abandoned. There was a workspace in the back, the table and floor littered with trimmed greenery and fallen petals of every color. There was a pair of forgotten pruning scissors left there as well, next to a tipped over coffee cup that, thankfully, seemed empty. Gi-hun clearly had been busy at work this morning. 

Gi-hun turns to him with an easy smile. “Okay. First things first. Have you worked with flowers before?” 

In-ho clears his throat, his grip on the umbrella tightening. “No.”

Gi-hun’s smile seems to grow bigger. “I figured as much. Well, we all have to start somewhere. I barely knew what I was doing when I first opened the shop, but it hasn’t gone out of business yet. That’s got to mean something, right?” Gi-hun motions towards the back table. “Let’s start with the basics. It’s a lot easier than you think.” 

In-ho didn’t pause this time, his feet moving before he could really think about what he was doing. He follows Gi-hun to the table, and fights the urge to try and tidy it up. 

“Flower language took me a while, so I don’t want to overwhelm you with that just yet.” Gi-hun pulls out one of the two chairs and pats the back of it. “Feel free to get comfortable. I’m going to grab an apron for you in the back.” 

In-ho eyes the chair for a moment before he sets the umbrella down on the table to shrug off his jacket and drape it over the back. He lowers himself into the seat, the wood creaking slightly but seeming sturdy enough. His gaze drifts over the table in front of him, the clutter making him itch. How did Gi-hun get anything done like this? He peers at an open notebook in front of him that he didn’t notice earlier. Inside, there are messy sketches of bouquets and arrangements. There are scribbled notes with words identifying the different meanings of each individual part of the piece. The handwriting is terrible, but he makes out a few of the words. Yellow peonies– fresh start. Pink chrysanthemums– friendship. In-ho had heard of flower language before, but he didn’t realize how in depth it seemed. He usually opted for simple purple daisies, as they were his wife’s favorite flower. Or roses since those were always the safest option. 

“I promise my arrangements are better than my terrible sketches,” Gi-hun says behind him pulling In-ho from his thoughts. He turns to look at Gi-hun who’s holding out an apron for him. It’s light pink, matching the one that the man wears now. He takes it gingerly before standing and putting it on. 

“Why pink?” In-ho asks as he sits back down, genuinely curious. 

“They were originally white. I accidentally washed them with a red shirt. I didn’t feel like replacing them.” Gi-hun shrugs. “I kind of like the pink now, anyway.” 

In-ho huffed out a quiet breath, finding himself amused at the thought of Gi-hun making such a simple mistake. He hadn’t known him long, but found it oddly fitting that the man didn’t seem frustrated about it like anyone else would. That he just simply accepted it as is. 

Before he even realizes it, a smile tugs at the corner of his lips. Gi-hun must have caught it because when In-ho glances up at him he’s smiling at him again. He doesn’t say anything though; instead his eyes flicker to something on the table. In-ho follows his gaze to the umbrella lying there where he left it. 

“My umbrella– you brought it back! Thank you!” Gi-hun grabs it like it's some long lost treasure, shaking off the petals that cling to it from lying on the table before he sets it aside. “I honestly forgot about that.”

“I noticed,” In-ho murmured, watching as Gi-hun dusts off one last stubborn petal from the umbrella’s handle. Gi-hun chuckles at the remark. 

“Okay, we’ve wasted enough time now. Let’s get started.” Gi-hun reaches underneath the work space pulling out a clear glass vase that he sets on the table with a soft clink. It’s nothing fancy and just tall enough to hold a decent sized arrangement. Then he grabs a bundle of greenery from a nearby bucket, shaking it off over the sink before he brings it back to the table. 

“We always start with the greenery,” Gi-hun explains, picking up the stem of a large fern and showing it to In-ho. “It’s kind of like the fluff. It makes the arrangement look fuller, and makes the color of the flowers pop.” 

In-ho’s eyes track Gi-hun’s hands as they reach to pick up the abandoned pruning scissors he noticed earlier. With a practiced ease, the man snips the end of the stem at an angle. He shows it to In-ho who inspects it curiously. “You always want to cut the stems like this. It helps them absorb more water and last longer.” Gi-hun grabs another fern from the bundle and hands it to In-ho along with the pruning scissors. “Now you try.”

In-ho does as he asks, cutting the stem in the same way he saw Gi-hun. The stem cuts with a satisfying snip, and Gi-hun seems delighted when he inspects the cut. 

“Perfect– okay now for putting it in the vase.” Gi-hun grabs a few more pieces from the bundle of them, hardly looking as he quickly snips multiple stems. He lays them out in front of In-ho, before picking one up. “You want to drop them in the vase, criss-crossing them as you do so they don’t just stay on one side. Like I said earlier, it’s the fluff.” He drops it in the vase, adjusting it slightly before he grabs another piece, crossing it over the other. “Just like that, over and over again.” He nudges the remaining pieces towards In-ho. “You try.”
In-ho picks up the pieces, and does as he is told. Carefully, he arranges them in the vase. It was simple enough, but there was a rhythm to it. It was important for each piece to be placed intentionally, but also still look natural and organic. He worked in silence, and for once it didn’t feel awkward or suffocating. 

Gi-hun leaned on the counter, watching In-ho work with that same easy smile. “See? Easy right? You’re a natural.” 

In-ho wasn’t sure about that, but he feels himself flush slightly at the compliment anyway. He clears his throat then turns to look at Gi-hun. “When do we add the flowers?” 

“Oh, not yet.” Gi-hun waved a hand. “I don’t want to overwhelm you too much on your first day.” He reaches over and slightly adjusts one of In-ho’s placed stems in the vase. “I just wanted to show you this because having prepped vases like this really helps out in the long run, especially on busier days.” 

In-ho nodded, but then frowned suddenly. “Surely this wouldn’t be the only thing I’d be doing.” 

Gi-hun laughed, the sound light and easy. “Oh, definitely not. I think we’re done here, so let’s move on for now.” Gi-hun stands and makes his way over to the nearby counter, and In-ho follows closely behind him. 

The front counter was similarly cluttered like the work table but less messy and more charming in its own way. There were brightly colored sticky notes sticking to the side of the register and all over the open laptop sitting there. A half filled order form along with some other papers lay next to an open notebook that seemed to have doodles of flowers and other things drawn within it. There was another coffee cup, the same as the one on the work table. Only this one had long gone cold and sat forgotten. 

“This is where you’ll, uh, be at most of the time.” Gi-hun looks a bit sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck before grabbing the coffee cup and tidying a few of the papers. “Sorry. It’s just me in here most of the time, and I keep meaning to tidy up but, you know. Things get busy.” 

In-ho looks around the empty shop before he turns back to Gi-hun and raises a brow. “This is busy?” he asks dryly. 

Gi-hun frowns at him before grabbing a receipt off the counter to only reveal another one underneath it. “It’s organized chaos. I swear I know where everything is.” 

In-ho made a doubtful sound but said nothing. He finds himself feeling amused watching Gi-hun scramble to clean his mess, brushing what he can off of the counter into the small trash can nearby that’s already almost full to the brim. 

Gi-hun clears his throat before pressing a few buttons on the register. “Anyways– I’ll show you how all this works. Just in case my very professional system ever confuses you.” 

In-ho listens intently as Gi-hun explains the things he would be expected to do. It was all easy enough– answering the phone, writing down orders and jotting down details, double checking pick up times. Gi-hun would sometimes get a little sidetracked in his explanations, but always managed to circle back. In-ho found himself nodding along as he spoke, absorbing the information in silence. It all seemed more than manageable. 

“So it’s all mostly just front-end work then?” In-ho asks once Gi-hun finally finished talking. 

“Basically yes. I’ll handle the bulk of the arrangements. But, if you’re interested, I don’t mind teaching you too.” Gi-hun leaned against the counter, his arms crossed. “Honestly, I just really need an extra set of hands around here. My friend Jung-bae comes in from time to time to help when he can, but he’s not the most reliable.” Gi-hun sighs. “My other friend, Sang-woo, runs the shop on Sundays when we’re closed to customers. He’s my delivery driver every other day though, so he’s hardly ever in here.”

In-ho’s gaze drifts around the shop as Gi-hun talks. He notices things he didn’t before. The place was charming, but was also a bit of a mess. Stray petals and leaves littered the floor, there were unpacked boxes tucked away in a corner, sticky notes stuck on every wall with scribbled reminders on them. He could easily imagine the man in front of him bustling about day by day, barely keeping up with everything all essentially on his own. 

His gaze flickers back to Gi-hun who’s still speaking, watching as he rubs a smudge of dirt from his sleeve absentmindedly. He doesn’t know what possesses him, but the words leave his mouth before he can process what he’s saying. 

“What days would I be working?” 

Gi-hun blinked, then grinned like he’d been waiting for In-ho to ask this question all along. “Wednesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays. Just three days a week for sure, but I might call you on other days if I need you. Is that okay with you?”

In-ho hesitates for a brief moment, but at this point there was no use in arguing with himself anymore.

“Yes,” he says, exhaling quietly. “That works.” 

___________________________

The rest of the day passed in a steady rhythm with Gi-hun showing In-ho the smaller details of the shop. How to water the plants, where they kept extra supplies at, how to best wrap a bouquet. It was, on occasion, interrupted by a few customers that trickled in periodically, picking up orders that Gi-hun had already filled. It was a slow day, just as Gi-hun had promised. 

At some point, Gi-hun left In-ho to tidy up the front counter, disappearing in the back room of the shop and mumbling under his breath about one of the refrigerators not functioning properly. He had just finished organizing the last bit of papers into a neat stack when the bell of the door chiming softly caught his attention. 

A woman entered, seeming a bit unsure of herself as she approached the counter.  In-ho straightened, tensing instinctively at the sudden interaction. Up until this point, Gi-hun had handled everyone that had come in today. 

“Excuse me,” she said, a timid but polite smile on her face. “I was wondering if I could get a specific bouquet made?” 

In-ho nodded as she spoke, though his movements felt stiff and unpracticed. “Yes. What were you thinking?” 

The woman averts her gaze, her hand coming to her neck to fidget with the delicate gold chain resting there. “It’s– the flowers are kind of specific.” 

In-ho picks up a nearby pen and taps it against the open notebook in front of him, looking at her expectantly. She continues to avoid his gaze but after a beat she begins to speak softly. 

“The flowers I need are specifically pink lilacs, purple asters, white anemones,” she shifts on her feet. “...And hemlock.” 

In-ho writes as she speaks, but the pen falters in its movements for a moment as she says the last one. He vaguely recognizes the other names, but he certainly recognizes the last one. He looks up at her confused. “Ah– sorry, just to be clear. Hemlock?” 

She nods, a gentle tilt of her head while still averting her gaze. In-ho furrows his brows, confused. He’s sure hemlock is poisonous, and not something anyone would want to receive as a gift, but he writes it down anyway. He would ask Gi-hun what to do. 

“Give me just a minute.” In-ho says, setting down the pen and turning towards the back room without another word. He pushes the door open and his eyes land on Gi-hun who’s still fidgeting with the handle of one of the refrigerators back there. 

“There’s a customer,” he states, his voice even. “She wants a bouquet.” 

Gi-hun looks over at him, blinking as if he was pulled from his own thoughts. “Yeah?” He steps away from the refrigerator, crossing his arms as he faces In-ho now. “What’s she looking for?” 
“Pink lilacs, purple asters, white anemones.” He hesitates for a brief moment before adding, “And, uh, hemlock.” 

Gi-hun stills. His eyes widen, and his brows raise in surprise. “Hemlock? Are you sure?” In-ho nods, and Gi-hun’s expression shifts as understanding seems to settle over his features. He exhales slowly, before nodding to himself. “Ah.”

“That’s not unusual?” In-ho asks, frowning. 

“It is, yes. Was she coughing by any chance?” 

In-ho thinks back to the customer. He didn’t recall seeing her cough, so he shakes his head. Gi-hun hums at that. 

“I’ll talk to her. Do you mind grabbing some queen’s lace for me? It’s labeled in the back–  the small white flowers.” Gi-hun points to one of the rows of fresh cut flowers and In-ho nods, and watches as the other man steps out. His eyes move back to the rows of flowers, scanning the labels. The more he looks, the more he realizes how disorganized it is in here. Buckets and wooden boxes of blooms are crammed together, the labels hidden and many of them already faded. 

It takes a little longer than it should, but eventually amongst all the other white flowers he finds them. He plucks a few stems, taking a moment to examine the tiny bunches of delicate white blossoms before straightening and making his way back out front. 

As he steps through the door, he finds Gi-hun standing next to the woman holding a small paper cup. The woman is coughing fitfully into her hand, her shoulders hunched as Gi-hun stares at her with a quiet look of concern. 

“Here, drink this,” Gi-hun says gently once she seems to compose herself well enough. She takes it with a murmured thanks and brings it to her lips. 

In-ho slows in his steps, watching the exchange with a hint of unease. What was going on? Did Gi-hun know this woman already? Maybe she had a condition of some kind. Gi-hun seems to sense In-ho’s hesitation, and turns to look at him. He offers a small reassuring nod. 

In-ho clears his throat and steps forward, wordlessly handing the flowers to Gi-hun who accepts them with an appreciative smile. 

“I know you asked for hemlock. I’m sure you can understand why a florist wouldn’t keep such a flower around.”  The woman nods in understanding, seeming solemn. “Therefore, I have another idea.” Gi-hun offers her the flowers and she takes them gingerly after a moment. She stares at them, twirling them between her fingers as she seems to inspect them. She looks back at Gi-hun almost expectantly.

“It’s queen’s lace. I know it’s not exactly the same but it’s a much safer alternative,” Gi-hun explains. “Would this be okay to use instead?” 

“Yes,” she says, seeming relieved. “Thank you.” 

Gi-hun smiles at her, before returning to the counter alongside In-ho. “I’ll leave you to it then,” Gi-hun says, his tone casual but encouraging. He passes by In-ho with a light touch to his shoulder as he reenters the back room, leaving the door open a crack. 

In-ho fights the urge to scowl. He knows what the other man is doing– forcing him to handle the rest of the interaction by himself. But he supposes that’s probably for the best. He schools his expression before turning back to the woman. “Are you needing this today?” 

“If that’s possible, yes.” 

There’s a shuffling noise from the other room and then Gi-hun’s head pokes out from behind the door. “I can have it made in thirty minutes! You know there’s a really nice bakery across the street if you need to kill time until then.” 

In-ho fights the urge to roll his eyes, but the woman at least seems amused. 

“Could I have a name for the order?” 

“Ah. Yes. It’s Cho. Cho Hyun-ju.”

In-ho jots the name down next to the rest of his notes. He doesn’t bother with any more questions– they seem to have everything they need at this point. Hyun-ju seems to think the same, because when he glances back up she’s adjusting her purse on her shoulder and turning towards the door. 

“I’ll be back in thirty then. Thank you both, again.” She ducks her head politely, before walking out the door. 

The bell chimes softly as she leaves, and then the store falls quiet once again. In-ho lets out a small breath and sets the pen down. 

A moment later, Gi-hun emerges from the back room with his arms full of flowers, his foot pushing open the door. He grins at In-ho as he passes him. “You did good!”

In-ho says nothing, his eyes trailing after Gi-hun as he makes his way to the work table. They settle into another comfortable silence, the only sound being the soft snip of scissors as Gi-hun works. In-ho sets back to work himself, this time grabbing the broom and dustpan from the back to work on sweeping the stray debris of petals and leaves from the floor of the shop. 

Minutes pass like this, the silence stretching but never feeling heavy. Gi-hun hums under his breath, something clearly offbeat and off tune, but In-ho doesn’t mind it. He finds himself distracted, his eyes consistently drawn to Gi-hun as he works. Tracking his hands as he deftly plucks and places each flower, adjusting them with a practiced precision. 

He doesn’t realize he’s stepped closer until Gi-hun pauses his movements and looks up at him inquisitively. 

“That woman,” In-ho starts without thinking. “How did you know?” 

Gi-hun cocks his head slightly. “What do you mean?” 

“It was like you knew her, but you didn’t seem familiar with her. You asked if she was coughing, when she wasn’t. And then suddenly she was.” 

“Oh– I guess you didn’t figure it out, huh?” Gi-hun says, turning in his chair to better face In-ho. “That makes sense. You probably don’t have much experience with it then.” 

In-ho furrows his brows. “With what?” 

“Hanahaki.” 

“...Hanahaki?” In-ho parrots, confused. He’s heard of it, sure. The disease that makes someone cough up flowers if they believed someone didn’t love them back. Or something like that. Gi-hun was right, he didn’t have much experience with it. The only person he knew was a young girl. Someone in the games with him. He didn’t even know her name, just her number. 233. 

She died early on, right in front of him. She collapsed, unable to breathe, choking on pale blue petals stained with her own blood. She had been unable to continue participating and before he could react– before anyone could react– she had been shot, her blood darkening his bright green tracksuit. 

The shop disappears. The shot is ringing in his mind, loud. Deafening. The metallic scent of blood fills his nose along with the sharp smell of gunpowder. His throat constricts, and he shuts his eyes tightly as his hands curl into tight fists as he tries to will away the sickening lurch in his gut. 

It doesn’t work. He’s spiraling, sinking, drowning–

“In-ho?” 

His name is spoken gently but steady, dripping with concern. It cuts through the noise.

In-ho blinks. 

The shop surrounds him again; the now familiar earthy smell replacing the phantom stench of blood. 

Gi-hun is staring up at him, brows furrowed, clear concern etched over his features. His hand is hovering slightly, like he was debating on reaching out. 

In-ho forces himself to unclench his fists, straightening. “What?” His tone is sharp, but he doesn’t care. He just needs this moment to pass. 

Gi-hun continues to stare at him, before he exhales. “You kind of… zoned out there for a second,” he says after a beat. His tone is casual, but there’s a slight edge to it, a carefulness that In-ho doesn’t miss. 

“I’m fine.” 

Gi-hun doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t press. “Okay.” Then as if deciding to move on, he taps the bouquet in front of him. “This is basically done. What do you think?” 

In-ho latches on to the shift in subject, relieved the other man doesn’t pry. He focuses on the bouquet in front of them, taking it in. 

His first thought is that it’s striking, but without being too much. The purple asters stand bold amongst the white anemones and queen’s lace. The pink lilacs seem to soften the boldness, balancing the contrast and making the piece feel warmer, sweeter. The greenery frames it all, structured yet organic looking; almost as if it grew around the flowers naturally. It's all wrapped in a light brown paper and tied with a white bow at the end. 

It’s beautiful.

In-ho realizes he’s been staring for a while without saying anything. He coughs, and turns his head away. “..You’re quite good at this,” he says, the words slipping out before he really thinks about them. He doesn’t take them back though. 

Gi-hun grins widely, clearly happy with the man’s response. “Thanks. I’d like to think so, but it’s nice hearing someone else say it.” His hand moves from the bouquet to tap the screen of his phone lying nearby. The time reads 6:55. Was it already that late? In-ho glances toward the windows, and sure enough the sun has long disappeared, the street lights being the only glow that filters through the glass. “She should be on her way back soon I would think.” Gi-hun’s voice brings In-ho’s gaze back to him. “Man, I didn’t realize it was so late. The time really flew by, huh?” 

In-ho nods in agreement, and then gestures to the bouquet. “Should I bring it to the counter?” 

Gi-hun hums, considering it for a moment. He adjusts a few of the leaves before he nods. “Yeah go ahead. I’ll clean up here and then meet you up there in just a second.”

In-ho picks up the bouquet, being mindful of how delicate it is. He carries it to the counter, setting it down carefully before he turns to the register, inputting the total as Gi-hun showed him how to do earlier in the day. 

A moment later, Gi-hun appears behind him, picking petals off his sleeves as he looks over In-ho’s work. He seems satisfied, nodding at the other man approvingly before he reaches over and inputs a few more numbers. 

“I forgot something?” In-ho questions. 

“Something I didn’t show you. Hanahaki discount.” Gi-hun smiles sheepishly.

In-ho is oddly amused by that. It’s…kind, thoughtful. He leans against the counter. “You must have a lot of experience with it then to have a discount. Is that…a common thing florists deal with?” 

“Mm, around here yeah. Seoul’s a bigger city so there’s more people.” Gi-hun shrugs.
“It’s kind of morbid but a lot of people like to make arrangements using the flowers they cough up. It’s like a last ditch effort to confess I guess. I can’t complain though. It's probably the only reason my shop’s stayed open this long.” 

You don’t give yourself enough credit, In-ho thinks. But he says nothing, and their conversation is soon interrupted by the door to the shop opening as the bell chiming catches both men’s attention. 

The woman, Hyun-ju, approaches the counter. She gently touches the bouquet lying there, examining it with a look of awe. 

“Everything to your liking?” Gi-hun asks. In-ho notes he almost sounds a little nervous. 

“Yes,” she breathes. “It’s perfect. You have no idea how much this means to me.” 

Gi-hun beams and he seems to stand a little taller looking proud. “I’ll let my coworker here ring you up. Thank you for your business, ma’am.” He ducks his head politely, and moves away from the two of them, seemingly going back to tidying up his dirtied work area. 

In-ho makes quick work of it, pressing a few buttons on the register before showing Hyun-ju the total. She hands over the payment without a word, taking the bouquet carefully along with the receipt In-ho hands her. She cradles the flowers in her arms as though they were something fragile, precious. 

“Thank you again,” she says softly, bowing her head politely before turning to leave. The bell chimes as the door swings closed behind her.

Gi-hun stretches from where he’s sitting at his work table, rolling his shoulders and yawning loudly. “Well. Told you it’d be slow today, didn’t I? You can go on ahead and head out. There isn’t much left to do anyway and like I said last time, I’m only a few minutes away.”

In-ho pauses glancing at the clock on the computer near him. It reads 7:04. They’re open for almost another half hour. “...Are you sure?” 

“Yeah, it’s basically closing time anyway. Besides, you’ve done enough. I don’t think the shop has ever been this clean. Can’t even remember the last time I saw the surface of the front counter actually, heh.” Gi-hun stands, cracking his back. “Plus, I’ll see you tomorrow anyway.”

Ah that’s right. Tomorrow. He’s really doing this then. 

“Oh by the way– did you bring your paperwork back? I forgot to ask about it this morning, completely slipped my mind.” 

In-ho freezes, caught off guard. “No,” he responds flatly. He hadn’t planned on working here so of course he hadn’t bothered with it. But he’s not about to admit that to Gi-hun. 

Gi-hun just shrugs. “No big deal. Just bring it tomorrow. It’s more of a formality anyways.” He clasps his hands together like he remembers something. “Oh– before you go, could we exchange numbers? Y’know just in case.” 

In-ho pauses, but there’s no real reason to refuse. He grabs his coat from behind the counter and fishes his phone from the pocket before he approaches Gi-hun, unlocking it as he hands it over. Gi-hun does the same, grinning as he hands his phone to In-ho who takes it hesitantly. He inputs his information before he hands it back to Gi-hun as he does the same with In-ho’s. 

“There. Now I can bother you when I need to.” Gi-hun winks, and In-ho sighs softly, tucking it in his back pocket as he reaches around and unties the pink apron from around his waist. Gi-hun reaches out a hand expectantly, and In-ho hands him the apron as he pulls it off from around his head. 

He shrugs his jacket on, and then heads for the door. Gi-hun waves at him, and he bows his head before he finally pushes the door open and steps outside. 

The cool evening air settles over him, and he breathes it in deeply. He tucks his hands in his pockets before turning and heading towards his apartment. 

___________________________

In-ho steps into his apartment, locking the door behind him with a quiet click. It’s dark inside, lit only by the dim glow of the city lights peeking through the cracks of his curtains. He doesn’t bother with turning on the lights, his body already on autopilot as he shrugs his coat off and makes his way to the small bathroom. 

He turns on the sink, splashing his face with the cold water. He stares at himself in the mirror for a moment, though he’s not really looking at anything. He closes his eyes then sighs, reaching for his toothbrush.

When he lays down, the tiredness finally hits him as the mattress sinks under his weight. It’s not the usual suffocating kind of tiredness– the kind that keeps his eyes focused on the ceiling for hours, unblinking. No, it’s something different. The kind of tired that is the result of doing something– that seeps into his muscles and demands to be felt. 

His eyes slip shut, and he lets himself relax. 

He wasn’t sure what he expected the day to be, but it certainly wasn’t this. He didn’t expect to ever be working again, especially as a florist no less. Cutting stems, cleaning petals from the floors, organizing Gi-hun’s chaos. It was all simple, methodical. He enjoyed it. He even found he enjoyed Gi-hun. 

He hadn’t expected that. The man wasn’t someone who he typically hung around, even before. Too loud, too chaotic, a touch airheaded. But kind. Thoughtful. Perhaps a bit silly, but he didn’t mind that. 

It was all…nice. 

And for the first time in a long time, before the exhaustion finally takes hold of him, In-ho realizes that he actually enjoyed his day. 

Chapter Text

Chapter 3: First Month

A month in and In-ho finally feels himself settling into the chaotic rhythm of Ga-yeong’s Flowers. Each day he finds himself moving with less and less stiffness. Answering the phone, arranging vases as needed, and cleaning as he goes. It’s all become a routine that he finds himself looking forward to. It’s consistent and constant, even if it's still messy and disorganized in a way that should frustrate him. But he falls into step with it, even finds himself trying to make the shop nicer, cleaner, somehow organizing the chaos along the way to better help he and Gi-hun manage.

Gi-hun. 

Gi-hun is the chaos in the store. 

He talks too much. He’s an open book about everything, always filling the silence with his musings or about his family, his friends. What he had for dinner last night, about a book he read, and Oh, In-ho, have you tried this restaurant before? In-ho, do you like cats? What about dogs? In-ho this, In-ho that. 

It should frustrate him. And sometimes it does, especially with the way Gi-hun works. He’s always leaving things half finished, scattering tools and papers and flower trimmings like he’s leaving a trail. He bustles about with a reckless kind of energy, knocking things over, forgetting where he puts things– and yet he somehow always manages to pull everything together at the last second like it was a part of his plan all along. 

And In-ho– In-ho finds himself scolding the man without meaning to. Gi-hun, wipe the counter down when you’re done. Gi-hun, I just swept the floor, can you try to keep it clean? Gi-hun if you just put the scissors back in the drawer when you are done…

Gi-hun doesn’t ever seem to mind it though. He just beams at him, shameless. Like he’s just grateful In-ho is there to keep him in check; like he enjoys it. Enjoys him. 

It makes it impossible to actually truly be irritated with the man. 

Because despite it all, Gi-hun is charming. Effortlessly so, at that. Customers come in just expecting to buy flowers.  And yet, they leave with more than just that. A laugh, a story, a bit of Gi-hun’s warmth they hadn’t realized they might have needed. He has a way of making people feel important, attended to. He speaks to them like they matter; that whatever reason they had coming in here is always something of great importance. 

And In-ho is not immune to that charm, as much as he is hesitant to admit it. 

It’s not limited to inside the shop either. Gi-hun texts him, too. Often. 

Every day, actually. 

It’s never anything too important. A picture of an animal he saw on a walk. A complaint about a customer he had to deal with. A picture of a flower with an attached fun fact. 

It should be annoying. 

But In-ho finds himself replying to each and every text. 

Sometimes he replies briefly– just a simple acknowledgement. Other times, against his better judgement, he engages with him. Asks him questions, entertaining whatever nonsense Gi-hun has decided to share that day.

He finds himself looking forward to them, though he’d dare not admit that out loud. They’re simply a part of his routine. A part of his day like filling orders or taking inventory. He supposes he spent so long being and feeling alone that he’d forgotten what it was like.

To have a friend. Or at least someone he’s on friendly terms with. 

At the very least, it makes stepping into the shop in the early mornings easy. Gi-hun is always already there, working on something . Today, it's a single stem that has his attention in a vase of bright yellow daffodils. Gi-hun is fussing with it, sighing in frustration as though he can’t seem to get it quite right. 

In-ho hums in amusement at him. “Surely a single flower cannot be giving you that much trouble.” 

Gi-hun huffs. “It’s stubborn. It won’t sit right.” 

“Sounds like someone else I know.” 

Gi-hun exhales through his nose, feigning a look of hurt on his face. “You wound me.”

In-ho snorts. “Hardly.” 

Gi-hun shoots him a look but continues to focus on the flower, muttering under his breath in frustration. He adjusts it only to readjust it again, a focused frown on his face.

“Why not just use a different flower?” 

“Because this one looks best. I can make it work.” 

In-ho observes as Gi-hun places the flower just to watch it shift out of place yet again. “You’re sure about that?”

Gi-hun groans, frustrated. “I was but now I don’t know.” He glares at the flower for a moment before looking at In-ho. “You’re enjoying this aren’t you.”

In-ho doesn’t bother to hide the smile that tugs at the corners of his lips. “A little.”

Gi-hun huffs, but doesn’t say anything. He leans back in, as if more determined somehow. In-ho shakes his head at him and turns away from him to focus on his own usual morning tasks. He moves around the room, adjusting the few displays in the window, starting to take note of the flowers they’re low on in the back room and organizing the papers on the counter that Gi-hun has somehow already made a mess of this morning. 

He hears Gi-hun continue in his struggle with the vase all the while, until eventually there’s a rustle of movement. Then, a defeated exhale. 

In-ho glances up just in time to see Gi-hun pluck the offending flower out of the vase and toss it onto the table dramatically. He grabs a different daffodil and trims it before sliding it into place. It sits perfectly on the first try, and Gi-hun catches In-ho’s watchful eye. He looks up at him and frowns. “I don’t want to hear it.” 

“I wasn’t going to say anything.”

“You don’t have to. I can see it on your face.” 

In-ho quirks an amused brow, but says nothing.

The rest of the morning passes in a slow, steady rhythm. A few customers trickle in here and there, most placing small orders or picking up bouquets they’d ordered the day before. It’s the usual routine, something now familiar to In-ho. Something to do with his hands instead of sitting around and overthinking. Comfortable. Quiet. 

Until it isn’t.

There’s a loud, sharp buzz. Gi-hun’s phone. In-ho ignores it, too focused on his current task of sweeping up around the work table where Gi-hun is at. 

It buzzes again, and this time In-ho pauses, looking up. Gi-hun is currently wrapping a ribbon around a bouquet of lilies, clearly ignoring the offending buzz of his phone. But then it buzzes again. Then again. Gi-hun sighs and frowns as he reaches for it, fingers hesitating slightly before unlocking the screen. 

In-ho thinks nothing of it– but then he watches as Gi-hun’s expression shifts. The man’s eyes widen, flicking across the screen as he clearly reads something over and over again. Slowly, he clicks the phone off and places it gently on the table. 

“In-ho,” Gi-hun starts, his voice wavering slightly. In-ho stops sweeping and straightens, his grip tightening on the broom’s handle. His full attention is now on Gi-hun who looks pale and like he might faint. A horrified expression is creasing his features. 

“...Gi-hun?” In-ho says slowly, concerned. 

“Don’t be mad at me,” Gi-hun says finally, his expression morphing into something more embarrassed, sheepish. 

In-ho exhales before running a hand down his face. He had been worried for a second that something bad might have happened. But this was a Gi-hun he had become familiar with– this version of the man meant he had forgotten something and was about to ask In-ho for help with it.

“...What is it this time?” 

Gi-hun avoids his gaze, scratching the back of his neck. “Do you happen to remember that wedding order?”

In-ho pauses, thinking back. He recalled a couple coming in a few weeks ago, practically attached at the hip. They needed arrangements for each of their tables and a bouquet for the bride. It wasn’t a huge order, clearly for a smaller wedding, but it would still take some time. If he recalled correctly, they weren’t needing it right away but needed it done and delivered in a few weeks. In-ho blinks. That had been his second week here, this being his fourth. Meaning it needed to be done. Today. 

“Please tell me it’s already done.”

Gi-hun gives him a weak smile. “I can’t do that.”

In-ho pinches the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. “...How much is done?”

“Um. One of the guest table arrangements. I finished it yesterday.” 

“Out of how many?” 

Gi-hun counts on his fingers for a moment. “...Six. Plus a bouquet and another bigger arrangement for the head table.” 

One out of eight arrangements. He pulls out his phone, glancing at the time. A quarter to one. “What time does this need to be done?”

“Sang-woo is coming at four.” 

In-ho goes rigid, the wood of the broom’s handle creaking in his tightening grip. “Three hours,” he says, his voice eerily even.

“It’s a lot, I know,” Gi-hun says quickly. “I was planning on calling Jung-bae but–”

“No.” 

Gi-hun blinks at him, seemingly taken aback by his sharp answer. “No?”

In-ho feels his face flush slightly. He’s only met Jung-bae a few times in passing but finds the man grating to say the least. Even still, he knows how important the man is to Gi-hun and wouldn’t want to step on any toes. So, he crosses his arms before sighing, “I think we can handle it. No need to bother Jung-bae.” 

Gi-hun gives him a curious look, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he rolls his sleeves up before clasping his hands together. “Okay! Let’s get started then.”

And without wasting another second, Gi-hun turns on his heel and heads straight to the back, weaving through the shop like it’s second nature. In-ho follows after him, watching as he kneels beside one of the storage shelves and pulls out a small arrangement. He shows it to In-ho who inspects it closely. There are pale orange roses surrounded by baby’s breath, along with dark green myrtle branches framing the entire piece. It all sits in a thin clear vase tied with a sheer white bow. It’s simple but effective. Something very fitting for a wedding. 

“This is one of the smaller ones for the tables. I need two more like this with the champagne roses, then three more exactly the same but with white roses,” Gi-hun explains, touching the flowers delicately as he speaks. “I can handle the bouquet and bigger arrangement, but those are going to take a little longer. Obviously if you need any help–”

“I can handle it, Gi-hun.” In-ho takes the vase from Gi-hun gently, their hands brushing briefly. “I might not be as fast as you, but I can certainly try to be.” 

Gi-hun stares at him for a moment before he nods, his shoulders relaxing. “I don’t know how I ran this place without you before,” he says, his expression softening. 

“I don’t know how you did either,” In-ho mumbles before standing up. He hears Gi-hun laugh as he leaves the room and takes the arrangement back to their work station. He sets it down gently before he rummages through the boxes underneath the table looking for the matching vases. It takes a moment, but he finds the box and pulls two of them out, setting them next to the finished arrangement. He’ll start with the greenery. That part was easy enough.

He sets to work filling the vases with water before grabbing a bundle of myrtle branches from the nearby bucket. He works quickly, snipping them before he starts placing them methodically one after another in the first vase. This part was easy– he often did this for Gi-hun during the slower parts of the day. He’s found that he’s gotten quite good at it, that it relaxes him. Before he knows it the first vase is done, and he’s halfway through the second one when Gi-hun finally makes an appearance, his arms full of flowers that he gently deposits on the table in front of them. 

“Should be enough to work with for now. I’ll get more as we go.” 

In-ho nods but doesn’t reach for the flowers just yet. He continues to add the myrtle branches to the vases. Gi-hun pulls out the chair beside him, quickly getting to work while he hums quietly to himself. It fills the silence between them, but it isn’t distracting. In-ho is used to it. Gi-hun doesn’t seem to do anything quietly, probably isn’t capable of it. In-ho finds that, in a way, he appreciates it. Silence has never been comforting to him, especially now. Too often it demands something from him. A response. An explanation. Thoughts he isn’t ready to voice. Gi-hun’s humming isn’t that. It simply exists and fills the space between them comfortably. 

In-ho works fast, faster than usual at least. His hands move rhythmically, unconsciously matching Gi-hun’s humming. He only falters as he grabs the first rose, his hand hovering the flower over the vase. He hasn’t really done an arrangement completely by himself at this point. Was he doing it right? Or should he start with the fillers and then work his way up? He tries to think back to how he’s seen Gi-hun do it but his mind is unhelpfully blank. Damn it. He sets the rose back down and reaches for a stem of baby’s breath instead.

“No, you had it right the first time.” Gi-hun’s voice startles In-ho, his hand flinching away. He looks over at the other man, but he isn’t even looking at him, too focused on cutting the stems of his own roses. “Start with the roses, trim them as you need, then add the baby’s breath at the end.” He waves a hand. “The baby’s breath will help fill everything out. Try not to think about it too much.” 

Try not to think about it. What kind of advice is that? He doesn’t know how to do something without thinking about it. In-ho’s jaw tightens, and he picks up the rose he set down a moment ago. He measures it against the side of the vase, angling it every way. He desperately tries to think of how it might sit, but everything he pictures doesn’t look right . The moment stretches too long, and just as the irritation starts to set in Gi-hun scoots his chair closer to him. 

“Here.” Gi-hun’s hand gently pulls the rose from In-ho’s grip, rolling the stem between his fingers. “Just start with filling out the sides. Like this.” He places the rose against the side of the glass, the petals touching the lip of the vase. “Once you find a spot, cut off the excess stem.” He gestures to the stem that goes past the glass of the vase before he takes his own scissors and cuts it off. “Then add it in at the same angle you had it.” He slides the rose into place, before adjusting the greenery around it. “Now you.” 

In-ho hesitates, breathing slowly for a moment before he moves to pick up another rose. He mimics everything Gi-hun did, placing the flower on the opposite side of the other one. Gi-hun hums approvingly at him. “There you go. Try not to get too caught up in your head about it.” 

In-ho frowns but picks up another rose. Now, at least, he has a place to start, and the flowers seem to place more easily. He finds his hands move with a little more confidence, and slowly the arrangement begins to come together. When he finally starts to add the baby’s breath, he doesn’t pause to think. He simply adds them where there are gaps, the little white flowers filling up the space nicely. 

As he places the last stem of the white flowers, Gi-hun makes a noise of approval next to him. He reaches over and gently pushes the vase next to the arrangement he made yesterday. Side by side, In-ho realizes he can’t really tell the two pieces apart. He turns to look at Gi-hun who is inspecting the pieces closely. He reaches out and gently adjusts one of In-ho’s roses before he turns to look at In-ho. He smiles and gives a thumbs up, and In-ho feels himself relax, letting out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding.

In-ho finds himself grabbing the next vase and placing the roses with much more confidence. He gets considerably far before the bell of the front door chimes, interrupting him. He and Gi-hun glance at each other before he gently places the rose he was holding back down. He wipes his hands on his apron before he heads to the front, greeting the customer with the same cool professionalism as he always does. 

By the time he finishes ringing them up, Gi-hun has made considerable progress on the bridal bouquet, his fingers deftly wrapping the stems of the baby’s breath and white and champagne roses with a white ribbon. In-ho doesn't say anything, just moves back to his spot and continues his work. 

Another customer comes in not long after and then another. Each time In-ho pauses his work and handles them, so Gi-hun can focus on the flowers and the much larger arrangement. They can’t afford Gi-hun getting distracted, a seemingly unspoken agreement between them, and In-ho doesn’t mind. He might not be as charming as Gi-hun is with customers, but he does well enough. He’s quicker with them, too. His lack of small talk gets them in and out as quickly as possible, the complete opposite of Gi-hun. 

By the time In-ho finishes handling the last customer, he notices Gi-hun stepping back from his workspace. His hands are on his hips as he surveys the large arrangement in front of him. It’s a beautiful display– white and champagne roses intertwined delicately with the baby’s breath. It mirrors the bridal bouquet he finished earlier. In-ho hums as he approaches, standing next to Gi-hun and taking the piece in. 

“Why are the smaller arrangements only one rose color?” In-ho finds himself asking after a long moment. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Gi-hun turn his head towards him. He turns his head too, meeting his gaze.

“They’re for each side of the family. The bigger one will sit at the head table, where the bride and groom will be. It has both colors because it symbolizes their union– like the bouquet.” Gi-hun gestures to the flowers as he speaks. “It’s kind of sappy, but it’s what they requested.” 

In-ho nods in understanding before pulling out his phone. The time reads 3:40, and he frowns. His eyes travel to the last two unfinished arrangements he had been working on, and Gi-hun seems to follow his gaze. He immediately springs into action, grabbing the vase that doesn’t have any flowers in it and sliding it to his own workspace. 

“Don’t tell me what time it is. I’ll take this one over, and you finish yours. We can make it.” Gi-hun doesn’t waste another second, grabbing a rose and jumping right back into working. In-ho follows suit, and together they waste no time. Their movements are quick but still careful, the sound of petals and leaves rustling filling the quiet of the shop. 

In-ho places his last rose just as the front door opens and the bell chimes. 

“Right on time,” Gi-hun says, grinning as he looks up at In-ho. 

Sang-woo steps inside the shop, adjusting his glasses as he glances between the two of them and the completed arrangements. In-ho straightens himself, only now realizing how tense his shoulders had become in the last few minutes. Sang-woo’s sharp eyes track his movement. He stares for a moment as if coming to a conclusion about him, then looks back at Gi-hun. His eyes narrow.

“When will you learn to not do things at the last minute? Didn’t you have two weeks for this order?” Sang-woo’s voice is sharp.

Gi-hun doesn’t so much as flinch under Sang-woo’s glare. He just grins, completely unfazed by the other man. “Yeah, yeah. But it got done, didn’t it?” He gestures broadly at all the arrangements as if it somehow erases the fact that he did, indeed, do it all last minute. 

Sang-woo exhales sharply. “That isn’t the point.” He steps closer, adjusting his glasses again as he inspects the pieces with a critical eye. “You had plenty of time. You shouldn’t be cutting it this close every time. What if something went wrong?” His gaze flickers back to In-ho. “I’m guessing you’re the reason everything actually got done?”

In-ho nods, rolling his sleeves back down. “I helped.” 

“Right.” Sang-woo’s expression is neutral but there’s a hint of approval in his tone. “Good.” He fixes Gi-hun with another pointed look. “You’re lucky In-ho is more responsible than you.” 

Gi-hun pouts but doesn’t argue. Instead, he nudges In-ho with an elbow. “He likes you better than me.” 

“I never said that.” Sang-woo mutters, but he doesn’t deny it either. He glances briefly at In-ho who simply gives a small polite smile. They haven’t spoken much, and their conversations have always been brief and professional, but In-ho doesn’t mind him. He respects Sang-woo’s no-nonsense demeanor, his clear intelligence, and most importantly the way he keeps Gi-hun grounded in his own way. Even if Gi-hun never seems to take his lectures to heart. 

“Let’s get these loaded up then,” Sang-woo says as he begins to gather up the arrangements with his usual efficiency. “Try not to do everything last minute next time.” 

Gi-hun lets out an exaggerated sigh, as though Sang-woo is asking the impossible from him. “You’re acting like this is a disaster. We got it done, didn’t we?” 

“By sheer luck,” Sang-woo deadpans.

“Still counts,” Gi-hun says cheerfully, grabbing one of the vases to help. In-ho trails behind them, watching as the two men fall into an easy rhythm of bickering. It’s nothing serious– just a back-and-forth they have seemingly perfected over the years of knowing each other. Gi-hun is always poking, prodding; Sang-woo is always sighing and scolding. 

They load the car quickly, Gi-hun handling the arrangements along with Sang-woo while In-ho mostly sticks to the sidelines, passing things when asked but content with just observing. 

Once the last piece is finally secured, Sang-woo shuts the door with a decisive click and turns back to the both of them. “Try to be more prepared for me next time,” Sang-woo says, though he sounds more resigned than hopeful.

Gi-hun grins and shrugs. “No promises.” 

Sang-woo simply shakes his head before he slides into the driver seat and shuts the door. He doesn’t say goodbye, just gives a curt nod to them both before driving away. 

In-ho exhales sharply, suddenly feeling exhausted as he and Gi-hun watch the car drive off into the distance. Gi-hun seems to feel the same, stretching his arms over his head with a loud groan. “Told you we’d make it.”

In-ho shoots him an exhausted look. “Sang-woo is right, you know.” 

Gi-hun makes an exasperated noise. “Not you lecturing me too. You guys need to learn to look at the bright side every once in a while.” He pats In-ho on the back before heading inside. “Come on. I need to sit down before I collapse.” 

In-ho mumbles in agreement and follows him in, letting the door swing shut behind him. The shop feels quieter now, the afternoon rush finally over. He leans against the counter, stretching the tension out from his arms and shoulders while he watches Gi-hun sigh dramatically and flop into a chair.

For a moment, neither of them say anything. There is only the faint sound of cars driving by outside, and the faint ticking of the clock in the shop filling the space between them.

“...I think we did good,” Gi-hun says eventually, a lazy smile on his face. 

In-ho sighs, shaking his head. “Somehow.” 

___________________________

By some small miracle, the rest of the evening was slow. Fridays were typically hectic, sometimes up until the very last minute. But tonight was different. Perhaps the universe sensed they needed a break and, for once, granted it to them. 

In-ho set to work on sorting through the day’s orders, listening to Gi-hun whistle as he moved around their workstation picking up the stray stems and petals from their chaos earlier in the day. The soft rustle of papers and occasional clatter of vases became background noise, feeling almost peaceful as the weight of the afternoon’s rush seems to finally lift.

In-ho flipped through a small stack of papers, checking names and dates to ensure everything was in order. “You’ve got a lot coming up,” he remarks, pulling a few of the larger orders out and setting them aside. 

“Mm. Makes sense,” Gi-hun hummed, wiping down the table. “Wedding season is picking up. People love getting married especially when the months get cooler.” 

In-ho made a small sound of acknowledgment. His fingers trail on the paper in front of him, tracing the names of the flowers requested. Sunflowers, pink lilies, white matthiolas . He tries to picture the arrangement of them in his mind but finds it difficult without the flowers being right in front of him. How did Gi-hun manage it? He hesitates for a moment before speaking again. “Did you always want to do this?” He glances up, watching as Gi-hun inspects a rag before tossing it in a nearby bin. “Be a florist, I mean.” 

Gi-hun pauses, his fingers idly brushing over the tabletop. “Hm. Well, to tell you the truth– not at all. I worked as an assembly team worker before this.” His brows draw together slightly and he gets a far away look in his eyes for a moment before he shakes his head. “Then that… Well, it didn’t work out. It was between this or a chicken shop. Figured flowers would smell better.” 

In-ho finds himself chuckling. Only Gi-hun would find himself with a choice like that it seems.

“Well, what about you? What did you do? Before this, I mean.” 

In-ho hesitates, unsure how to answer. He decides the truth can’t hurt.

“...I was a police officer.”

Gi-hun’s eyes widen in surprise. “A cop? Huh. Actually, that kind of makes sense.”

In-ho furrows his brow and huffs. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Nothing!” Gi-hun exclaims. “It’s just that– well I guess you have the demeanor for it is all.”

“Explain.”

Gi-hun looks a bit sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well uh. I don’t know. You’re kind of stoic. A little intimidating too.”

“You think I’m intimidating?” In-ho crosses his arms, raising a brow at Gi-hun.

“Well, not anymore! The flowers have softened you, I think.” 

“Hm.” 

There’s a long stretch of silence between them, both men focusing back on their individual tasks. 

Gi-hun’s movements slow and he feels the man’s gaze on him again. “... What made you quit? If you don’t mind me asking,” Gi-hun asks, breaking the silence.

In-ho continues to work, wiping the front counter slowly and methodically. He doesn’t look up at Gi-hun when he finally answers. “I was fired.” 

There’s another long moment of silence, this time much more tense than before. 

“...Did you do something bad?” Gi-hun finally asks, his voice soft.

In-ho’s mind flashes to his wife lying in a hospital bed, her figure swallowed by the thin white sheets. Her body is frail, her skin stretched too tightly over delicate bones. Her swollen stomach rises and falls with shallow breaths– a grim reminder of the even more fragile life she still carries so stubbornly despite the state she’s in. She manages a smile, but it does not reach her eyes– it never does anymore.

Beside her on the bedside table, a small blue vase holds her favorite flowers. Purple daisies that In-ho brought her just a few days ago. Their stems droop, too weak to hold themselves upright anymore. The petals are curling inward now, the edges browning and brittle. They are dying. Just like she is. 

When he was offered that money from his former client, all he could think about was her. His wilting flower. How could he say no when it was her life on the line? How was he to know that it would cost him everything that mattered. That it would cost him his humanity. That 455 people would have to die just so he might have a chance to live again. That even despite everything, she would still die and he would be left alone to wallow in his grief and guilt for the rest of his life. 

“...I did what I thought I had to do.”

But it didn’t matter in the end, In-ho thinks. He closes his eyes for a moment, taking a shaky breath to steady himself. When he opens his eyes again, Gi-hun is looking at him intently, his expression thoughtful. He meets his gaze, not faltering underneath it. That makes Gi-hun’s expression soften again, and he gives In-ho a small smile.  

“I believe you,” he states after a moment. 

In-ho can’t help but huff out a small, humorless laugh. “You trust too easily.” 

“Ugh. You sound like my ex-wife.” 

It’s In-ho’s turn to look surprised now. “You were married?” 

Gi-hun looks offended. “Why do you sound so surprised? I told you about my daughter!” 

In-ho gives a small half-hearted shrug. “You just don’t seem the type.” 

Gi-hun scoffs, crossing his arms. “Then what type am I then?” 

In-ho considers the question for a moment, then smirks slightly. “Irresponsible.” 

Gi-hun blinks a few times before bursting into laughter. The sound is sudden and catches In-ho off guard. He can’t help but smile back. “Damn, now you really sound like my ex-wife.”

In-ho lets out a small chuckle, shaking his head before he focuses back on the task at hand. Gi-hun does too. At least for a moment. Then suddenly the man groans, throwing his hands up. “You know what, In-ho? It’s been a long day. Let’s close early.”

In-ho doesn’t even look up. He just continues wiping the counter, not even acknowledging the man’s outburst. Gi-hun, from across the room, clicks his tongue.

“If you wipe that counter anymore it’s going to become a mirror. Come on In-ho, it’s Friday. We survived the week! You know what that means?” 

In-ho already knows what’s coming before the words leave his mouth.

Gi-hun approaches the counter, slamming his hands down on the freshly cleaned surface. In-ho bites back the urge to snap at him. 

“It means,” Gi-hun starts, leaning forward slightly, “that we should get a drink.” 

In-ho sighs, already prepared to shake his head. This is how it always goes– every Friday, without fail, Gi-hun asks him to get a drink. And every Friday, In-ho politely declines. But as he opens his mouth to do so, a sudden cough cuts him off. His chest tightens, and his hand comes up to cover his mouth. After a moment he clears his throat, frowning into the palm of his hand as swallows and feels a lingering scratchiness still there. 

Gi-hun tilts his head at him. “You good?”

In-ho clears his throat again and then waves him off. “Allergies,” he mutters, rubbing at his throat. He pauses for a moment, thinking of Gi-hun’s offer again. Maybe a drink wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all.

“...Alright,” he says after a moment. 

Gi-hun stares at him. “What?”

“Let’s get a drink.” 

For a second, Gi-hun doesn’t react, as if he’s processing what In-ho has said to him. Then, his face splits into a huge grin. “Wait, you’re actually saying yes?”

In-ho rolls his eyes. “Don’t make me change my mind.” 

“No take backs. You already said yes!” Gi-hun says excitedly. His hands quickly move to untie his apron, tugging it over his head before he tosses it on the counter to be dealt with later. In-ho follows suit, though he takes a moment to carefully fold his own apron before setting it down. He finds himself glancing around the room. The majority of the shop is cleaned, but certain things still need to be done. 

“Are you sure about closing early?” In-ho asks, hesitant. 

“Relax. I’ll just come in early and get the rest of everything done. Can you grab my coat?”

In-ho doubts that but doesn’t say anything. He grabs their coats hanging from the nearby rack before he approaches Gi-hun. He hands his coat over without a word. Gi-hun takes it with a smile and shrugs it on while In-ho buttons his own up with a quiet efficiency. 

“Okay, let’s go before you have time to change your mind,” Gi-hun says, rushing to the front door and holding it open for In-ho to step through. Which he does, and he patiently waits for Gi-hun to hit the lights and lock the door behind him before he steps out into the cold night air next to In-ho. Gi-hun tilts his head to the left. “It’s a short walk. Just a few minutes this way.” 

In-ho nods, letting Gi-hun lead the way as he falls into step beside him. As they walk, In-ho finds himself coughing again into his hand. His throat feels raw, the cold air doing him no favors. He suddenly finds himself really looking forward to getting this drink.

He can only hope he doesn’t regret it.

Chapter Text

Chapter 4: First drink

He does regret it. Almost immediately upon entering the bar.

In-ho’s stomach drops as soon as he steps inside. The bar is warm, almost stuffy– the air thick with the smell of alcohol and fried foods. But the atmosphere is not what makes him tense. It’s the people.

The first person he notices is Jung-bae who sits at a table near the bar. He’s laughing, loud and obnoxious, at something someone must have said. His mood instantly sours. Out of all the people, of course he would be here. After the long day he’s had In-ho has no patience for the man’s grating personality or the way he seems to always have something to say about everything. 

But then In-ho notices the people across from him. Ali and Sae-byeok. His interactions with them have been very limited. All he knows is that they work across the street at the bakery and sometimes they stop in to chat with Gi-hun, trading baked goods for flowers. Already, In-ho feels overwhelmed. He hasn’t been around this many people at once in a long time, and he especially doesn’t know how to interact with people who he barely knows or outright doesn’t like. He thought this would be a quiet drink, just him and Gi-hun. Something simple, something familiar. Not a social gathering he had no idea he was agreeing to in the first place. 

Gi-hun perks up, raising a hand in greeting to Ali and Sae-byeok who wave back. In-ho clenches his jaw and debates on making up some poor excuse, so he can quickly turn around and leave before Gi-hun could stop him.

Gi-hun barely takes a step forward before he stops, glancing at In-ho and seemingly clocking his expression. His excitement falters, and something more apologetic flashes across his face. 

“Ah… I should have told you,” he says, avoiding In-ho’s gaze. “We all usually meet up here on Fridays. Just to have something to look forward to, especially when the weeks are long. I just thought it would be nice to, you know, properly introduce you. Since you seem to be sticking around.” He gives In-ho a small, nervous smile. “Didn’t mean to ambush you.” 

In-ho breathes slowly, his fingers flexing at his sides. It made sense. Gi-hun was always trying to bring him into the fold of things, make him something more than a coworker. Whether it was through texting or trying to introduce him to new people at the shop. It was easy to avoid when he was working, but now here outside of work, it set him on edge. There was no safety net of professionalism, just the expectation to simply be himself. But he wasn’t sure he knew how to do that anymore.

Gi-hun watches him carefully and sensing his hesitation, he nods at an empty table towards the back of the room. “We can sit away from them if you want?” he offers. “Just us. They would understand.” 

In-ho glances at the group again. Jung-bae is gesturing animatedly at something while Ali and Sae-byeok laugh along to whatever he’s saying. They haven’t seemed to notice him yet. He could sit in the back, keep to himself, and avoid the whole thing entirely. He could have a drink or two and then just simply duck out and head home. 

His gaze flickers to Gi-hun who’s still watching him, waiting patiently for his answer. He’s not pressuring him, not pushing– just offering him a way in or a way out if he wants.

In-ho sighs. He could at least try. What was the harm in one drink? 

“No it’s fine,” he mutters. He straightens before fixing Gi-hun with a pointed look. “Just one drink.” 

Gi-hun’s expression brightens immediately. “Exactly, just one drink!” He claps In-ho on the back before leading them to the table.

As they approach, Jung-bae’s expression lights up, and his animated gestures grow more exaggerated as he waves them over. “In-ho! You do exist outside the shop!” His words are slightly slurred, and his grin is wide. “I started to think you might live in the back or somethin’.”

In-ho clenches his jaw and keeps his expression neutral. He gives the man a short nod as he takes the empty seat next to Gi-hun. “Jung-bae,” he greets, his tone polite and much more formal than the other man’s drunken enthusiasm. 

Jung-bae doesn’t seem to notice the man’s forced formality. He leans in and takes a sip of his drink. “Didn’t have you pegged as the type of guy to come out for drinks, honestly. Gi-hun finally wore you down then?” His tone is teasing, and he waggles his eyebrows at Gi-hun. 

Gi-hun reacts immediately, smacking Jung-bae’s arm. He doesn’t hit him hard, but it’s enough to make the man laugh loudly. “Shut up,” he grumbles, looking annoyed but not angry. Gi-hun gives an apologetic look to In-ho, who is watching the two men with an amused look.

Ali slides a drink menu across the table, grabbing In-ho’s attention. He takes it with a small nod of acknowledgement. “It is actually nice to see you not behind a counter for once,” Ali says warmly, his sincerity cutting through some of In-ho’s tension. “You always look so serious at the shop.”

Sae-byeok sips her drink and glances at Gi-hun with an amused expression. “We were starting to wonder when Gi-hun would finally drag you along,” she says, stirring the straw around in her glass. “Took him long enough.” 

Gi-hun leans forward onto the table and sighs. “This is why I never brought him until now. You guys are annoying.” 

“Not true. He’s asked me every Friday since I started working,” In-ho replies smoothly, not looking up as he flips through the drink menu casually. 

Gi-hun scoffs. “Not every Friday.”

“No, that definitely sounds like you. You’ve always been persistent ,” Jung-bae quips. Gi-hun frowns and picks up a napkin and throws it in his direction. 

Ali chuckles. “Gi-hun talks about you all the time, so I’m not surprised.”

“Not all the time!”

“Definitely every Friday since you started working there,” Sae-byeok chimes in, smirking. 

Gi-hun opens his mouth, clearly ready to protest, but before he can, the waiter appears at their table. He sighs, glaring at the group before turning to speak to them.

They place their orders– In-ho opting for a whiskey, neat, while Gi-hun gets a bottle of soju. When the waiter leaves, Jung-bae gives In-ho a look.

“Whiskey, huh?” Figures you’d be the type.” There's a teasing note in Jung-bae’s tone. 

“It’s what I like,” In-ho says. 

“Figures,” Jung-bae says, tapping his fingers against his own glass. “You look like the brooding whiskey type.”

Gi-hun snorts. “What does that even mean ?”

Jung-bae waves his hand vaguely. “Y’know. Can’t you see him dressed in all black at the back of a dimly lit bar looking serious and broody? Like he belongs in a noir movie or something?”

In-ho breathes out sharply from his nose, mildly amused. “Or maybe I just like whiskey.” 

Before Jung-bae can retort, the waiter returns, setting their drinks down one by one. The conversation flows much easier between them all as they drink. In-ho sips his own drink slowly, more than happy to mostly just sit back and observe the group as they talk. Gi-hun, Ali, and Sae-byeok exchange stories from their respective shops from the week as Jung-bae jumps in from time to time with his usual exaggerated commentary. They don’t ignore In-ho either. Every so often, someone will direct a question his way, pulling him into the conversation. He answers when prompted, offering short but genuine responses. He even finds himself laughing along at some of the more ridiculous remarks Jung-bae makes. 

As the night stretches on, the group gets a little louder, a little looser. Laughter flows as freely as the drinks between them, their conversations drifting into easy banter and half-drunken debates. Jung-bae is, predictably, the furthest gone. He slurs his words, leaning too far into Ali’s space a few times only to be pushed back with an amused laugh. Gi-hun is grinning widely, his cheeks noticeably more flushed as he pours another glass of soju for himself, finishing the bottle. Even Sae-byeok seems more relaxed, resting her head in her palm as she listens, sipping on her own drink slowly. 

In-ho, meanwhile, has been nursing the last of his whiskey for a while now. He’s pleasantly warm, but still clear-headed. As the others continue talking, he glances at the time and decides that he’s perhaps stayed a bit longer than he intended to. The night has been fine– better than expected if he’s being honest– but he’s done what he intended. He has had his drink and made an appearance. There’s no reason for him to overstay. 

In-ho exhales, and scoots his chair back ready to stand and say his brief goodbyes. He’s interrupted, though, as a familiar voice speaks up behind him. 

“Didn’t expect to see you here.” Sang-woo’s voice is even.

In-ho leans back slightly, turning his head towards Sang-woo as he pulls a chair out from beside him to sit. He sighs and settles back into his seat. He wouldn’t want to seem rude leaving right as Sang-woo joins them. Maybe just one more drink then.

“...It was a last minute decision,” he replies.

“One I hope you haven’t started to regret,” Sang-woo says, hand coming up to flag the waiter down.

Gi-hun who is still visibly tipsy leans in close, his shoulder brushing In-ho’s. “He didn’t regret it until you showed up, I bet.” His tone is teasing, but Gi-hun’s eyes flick from Sang-woo to In-ho, something soft in his gaze– like he’s checking in, making sure he’s still okay. 

In-ho rolls his eyes in response. He lifts his hand to grab the waiter’s attention too and orders himself another whiskey, pushing his empty glass to the side. 

The rest of the table follows suit. Gi-hun asks for another bottle of soju, while Jung-bae loudly requests something stronger. Sae-byeok quickly cuts in with a pointed look and orders the man another beer instead. Ali, clearly the responsible one of the group, simply asks for a refill on his water.

Their drinks arrive shortly after, their conversation carrying on as they all take a fresh sip. In-ho wraps a hand around his glass, swirling it slightly before he looks at Sang-woo and speaks.

“The wedding arrangements from earlier,” he starts, bringing his drink to his lips. “Did everything go smoothly with the delivery?” 

Sang-woo nods, taking a sip of his own drink. “Yes. I got there just in time. The bride was especially excited.”

Gi-hun lets out a short laugh, leaning an elbow on the table. “So they loved it, huh? Bet they had no idea it was all thrown together last minute.” 

Sae-byeok raises a brow and looks between the three of them. “Again with another last minute arrangement? Surely you didn’t make In-ho clean up your mess.” 

Gi-hun clicks his tongue. “Who do you think I am, huh? He helped willingly .”

In-ho takes a long sip of his whiskey. “I wouldn’t say willingly.”

“I asked nicely ! I could have done it all myself, you know. Wouldn’t have been the first time.”

“Yes. Only you wouldn’t have been done in time, like usual. I would have had to help.” Sang-woo gives Gi-hun a pointed look before he looks at In-ho. His expression shifts, a small smile on his lips. “But thankfully, you had In-ho there.” 

Gi-hun scoffs. “You guys never have any faith in me.” He turns to In-ho, though, smiling at him. “I guess I should thank you, huh?” 

Before In-ho can say anything in response, Gi-hun’s hand reaches out to clasp him on the shoulder. Maybe it’s the alcohol, but his touch lingers there for a beat, and In-ho finds he doesn’t know what to say. He’s too focused on the warmth of the man’s palm through the fabric before it finally slips away after a long moment.

In-ho clears his throat, though it’s not quite as harsh as before. The scratchiness is back from earlier, like something is catching. He quickly finishes the rest of his whiskey before glancing at the time. “I should go,” he announces, pushing his glass aside. He pulls out his wallet and throws a few bills on the table– definitely more than enough to cover the two drinks he’s had. 

Gi-hun slumps against the table. “Nooo, c’mon . One more.” He reaches out as if to grab In-ho’s wrist, his fingers brushing against the sleeve of his coat– because of course he never even took it off. He truly hadn’t planned on staying this long from the beginning. 

The moment Gi-hun touches him again, another cough bubbles up in his throat. In-ho’s hand quickly comes up to cover his mouth. It’s enough to make Gi-hun pause, his brows furrowing slightly as he pulls his hand back. The others at the table look over at him too, concern written on their faces.

In-ho frowns. “It’s nothing. Just a little cold, I think.” 

Sang-woo is unconvinced. “I’ll call you a car.”

“I can walk, my place isn’t far,” In-ho says, standing.

Sang-woo already has his phone out, seemingly not budging. “Consider it my thanks for saving Gi-hun’s ass today.”

In-ho eyes him for a moment before he sighs. “Alright. Thank you.” 

Sang-woo unlocks his phone and taps the screen before he hands it to In-ho. He types in his address before handing it back. Sang-woo glances at the screen. “Should be here in a few minutes.” 

In-ho nods. “I’ll wait outside. Some fresh air will do me good, I think. Thank you all for having me.” He bows his head politely as everyone says their goodbyes to him. But before he can leave Gi-hun stands up, fidgeting with something in his pocket.

“I’ll wait with you, need a smoke anyway,” he says, finally pulling out a pack of cigarettes. 

In-ho considers the man for a moment before he nods and steps away from the table. Gi-hun follows closely behind him, stumbling slightly as he continues to dig through his coat while he walks. 

Outside the air is crisp, a stark difference from the warmth of the bar that still clings to their skin. In-ho takes a slow breath, the cool air stinging his already raw and irritated throat. His gaze is drawn to Gi-hun who is standing next to him, still fumbling around in his own coat pockets with increasing frustration. There’s a cigarette already tucked between his lips. 

“Dammit,” Gi-hun mutters, exhaling as he drops his hands to his sides, clearly defeated. “You don’t happen to have a lighter on you, do you?” 

In-ho fishes in his own coat pocket for a moment before he pulls out his own lighter. He hands it over to Gi-hun who takes it almost triumphantly. He wastes no time, flicking it to life in his cupped hand and lighting the cigarette hanging from his lips. In-ho watches him, the light of flame flickering over his features, the dim glow softening the lines of his face and making him look younger if just for a brief moment. 

Gi-hun takes a long slow drag, letting the smoke settle in his lungs before he finally exhales, a satisfied sigh leaving his lips. He holds the lighter back out to In-ho. 

“You smoke?” he asks, tilting his head slightly. 

In-ho’s fingers twitch against the familiar pack of cigarettes in his pocket. He used to, once upon a time. His wife hated it– she’d scold him every time she caught him with one, nagging him until he put it out or she plucked it still lit from his lips. Even now, the habit still lingers. But he’s been trying to quit.

In-ho looks away from Gi-hun, sighing. “Not anymore. Or at least, I’m trying.”

Gi-hun looks at him, doubtful. “Trying, huh?”

In-ho doesn’t take the lighter back. Instead, he nods towards Gi-hun’s hand. “Keep it, maybe that’ll help me stop.”

Gi-hun turns the lighter over in his hand before slipping it into his pocket with a lopsided grin. “It’ll be here if you need it. Unless I lose it, too.” He takes another drag of his cigarette, exhaling the smoke into the cold night air. In-ho can’t help but watch him from the corner of his eye. His fingers tap the cigarette box in his own pocket, the itch to pull one out growing as he observes Gi-hun. He swallows it down, pulling his hand out of his pocket.

“Thank you, again,” Gi-hun says after a moment, smoke billowing out of his mouth as he speaks. “I didn’t really say it properly before. You really didn’t have to help, but you did. And you did good.” He glances at In-ho, tilting his head slightly. “I was thinking… Maybe you could take over some orders in the future. Only if you wanted to. I think you’d be good at it, though.” 

In-ho looks at him, hesitant. It hadn’t been so bad, the work today. Stressful and last minute, sure. But he’d handled himself. Though, it’s hard to imagine he could have done it without Gi-hun’s help. “I’d be willing to try– if you taught me, of course.” 

Gi-hun grins at him, clearly satisfied with that answer. Before he can say anything else, a pair of headlights sweeps over them as a cab pulls up onto the curb.

“That’s me,” In-ho says, stepping forward. He opens the door to the car, pausing to look at Gi-hun for a moment. 

Gi-hun takes a small drag of his cigarette, exhaling before he smirks. “See you Wednesday then?”

In-ho nods. “Wednesday. Have a good weekend, Gi-hun.” He gives the other man a small smile before he steps inside the car and closes the door behind him. 

___________________________

The car ride to In-ho’s apartment is short and uneventful, the lights of the city flickering by in a blur. In-ho rests his head against the window, closing his eyes as the exhaustion from the day settles in his bones. When the car finally pulls up to his building, he stirs from his position, a bit embarrassed that he seemingly dozed off. He thanks the driver and steps out.

As he opens the door to his room, his phone buzzes in his pocket. He digs it out, glancing at the screen as he closes the door behind him.

Gi-hun [8:32 PM]: you get home okay? 

In-ho lingers by the door for a moment, debating on how to respond. Something about how he had a good time tonight, that he enjoyed himself. Instead, he simply types a single word. 

In-ho [8:33 PM]: Yes.

His phone almost instantly buzzes again in response. Then again.

Gi-hun [8:33 PM]: good

Gi-hun [8:33 PM]: will we see you again next friday? 

In-ho stares at the screen, thumb hovering over the keyboard. 

He isn’t sure. 

It’s been a long time since he’s been amongst people like that. As a part of a group. They may not have made him feel like an outsider– quite the opposite in fact– but does he really belong there? Is he allowed to belong there?

He sighs before typing out a response. 

In-ho [8:35 PM]: Maybe.

As he hits send, another cough racks through his chest and scratches at his throat. He lifts a hand to cover his mouth, but as he does, something catches his eye. On his sleeve there's a single thin white petal clinging to the dark fabric of his coat. 

He pauses, plucking it off with his fingers before he examines it for a moment. It’s a daisy petal.

That’s strange. He doesn’t remember working with daisies at all today. And how it somehow managed to stay on his coat this entire time is beyond him. In-ho frowns, but doesn’t dwell on it. Just a normal problem for someone who works in a flower shop he supposes. 

He shrugs off his coat, hanging it by the door. As he passes his trash can, he simply flicks the small petal inside. Then, without another thought, he moves further into his apartment, already pushing the odd little detail from his mind.  

Chapter Text

Chapter 5: First Arrangement

“You’re sure you’ll be alright on your own?” Gi-hun asks for what must be the hundredth time this morning. 

In-ho sighs slowly, not looking up from the computer as he clicks through the few orders to be printed for the day. “Yes, Gi-hun. We’ve been over everything twice now.”

Gi-hun shuffles on his feet before he leans on to the counter. “I could go through it all again, if you needed me too.”

“Gi-hun,” In-ho says sternly, finally looking up at the other man. “I’ve got it. Please stop fretting for your own sake and enjoy your day off.” 

Gi-hun fidgets with one of the pens laying on the counter. “I know, I know,” he says, sighing. “I just keep thinking, what if there’s a big order– or what if I forgot something like last month.” The pen rolls against the counter, the sound of it loud in the quiet of the shop. In-ho’s eye twitches at the noise, his focus disturbed. His hand reaches out to still the pen in Gi-hun’s grasp, the other man peering up at him curiously as he does so. In-ho fixes him with a look. 

“You went through all the orders yesterday. You had me come in early to look everything over, too.” In-ho pulls the pen into his grasp, clicking it before he drops it back into its cup. “Nothing was forgotten, and everything is prepped and ready for the day. Have a little faith in me.”

Gi-hun groans, but his tense shoulders seem to relax a bit from In-ho’s words. “It’s not you I don’t have faith in. It’s me.” 

“Then have enough faith in me that I made sure you didn’t forget anything.”

Gi-hun stares at him intently for a brief moment before he exhales slowly, his posture finally loosening. “Okay. But you have my number. I’ll only be a few minutes away, so if you need me–”

The door of the shop swings open just then, cutting him off. A small figure steps inside, her dark eyes wide as she takes in the flowers around her. She’s bundled in a light green coat, the backpack she wears slightly too big for her small frame, as she carefully toes the line between the entrance and the main floor. Behind her there’s a slender woman who follows the young girl, her face tired but her gaze still sharp as it immediately lands on Gi-hun. 

“Appa!” The young girl, Ga-yeong In-ho assumes, grins. She bounds forward and throws her arms around Gi-hun’s waist in a tight hug. 

In-ho watches curiously as Gi-hun’s entire demeanor changes, his face softening into a fond look. The nervous energy he had moments earlier is replaced by something more warm as he kneels down to hug her back. “There’s my girl. Are you excited for today?” 

She steps back and nods excitedly. “I brought my sketchbook. You promised to show me how to draw flowers like you do, remember?” 

Gi-hun smiles and ruffles her hair gently. “Of course I remember. Why don’t you go into the back with Mr. Hwang here and pick some flowers out with him, yeah?” 

In-ho stiffens, taken a bit off guard. His eyes dart quickly from Gi-hun to the woman he can only assume is Ga-yeong’s mom– Eun-ji if In-ho remembers correctly. She’s staring at him, looking him over for a moment with a quiet scrutiny. He avoids her gaze, suddenly feeling strangely exposed. 

After a moment she nods at him in approval before turning her attention back to Gi-hun.

In-ho lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. His gaze shifts to Ga-yeong who approaches the counter and peers up at him expectantly. She sways a little on her feet before bouncing up onto her toes. “Are you going to help me pick flowers?” 

In-ho stares at her. “I…suppose I am.” 

Apparently, that’s all it takes. Ga-yeong grins widely at him before coming around the counter. She reaches out to wrap her small fingers around his wrist and gives a tiny tug. “Come on then!”

In-ho spares a quick glance to Gi-hun before he lets Ga-yeong drag him to the back room. The other man is watching him with a lopsided grin, something soft in his gaze. Gi-hun gives him a small thumbs up before he turns back to Eun-ji. 

Ga-yeong’s excitement is tangible as she starts to sort through the many boxes of flowers. In-ho crouches next to her pointing out a few different options for her to look at. 

As he’s pulling out a box for her to look at better, he hears his name spoken from the front of the shop, grabbing his attention. He doesn’t mean to eavesdrop, but that’s exactly what he does. 

“In-ho’s been here two months now,” he hears Gi-hun’s voice say. There’s a hum in response. 

“You can afford paying another worker?” Eun-ji this time. Her tone is doubtful. 

Gi-hun sighs. “Yes, Eun-ji. We do pretty good here, all things considered.” 

There’s a beat of silence. Then a long sigh. “You’ll be good with her today then?” 

“Yes, I told you. We’ll just stay at my apartment, watch some movies, and draw. We’ll probably get some takeout for dinner before I bring her back.” Gi-hun’s voice sounds tired.

“You’ve got money for takeout?” 

Gi-hun scoffs audibly. “What kind of question is that, huh? Of course I–”

“Gi-hun.” 

There’s a long exhale. In-ho might not be able to see Gi-hun’s face, but he imagines he looks tired. “... Yes . I have money for takeout.”

“Mr. Hwang?”

In-ho blinks, turning back to Ga-yeong who’s holding up a flower in each hand. One is a white daisy, the other a pink hydrangea.

“Which do you like better?” she asks, tilting her head. 

In-ho considers the two flowers for a moment. “...Both?” 

Ga-yeong beams at him, her smile so reminiscent of her father’s. “Then both it is!” She turns back to the boxes and picks out a few more sprigs of each flower. She pauses for a moment, her fingers grazing over the petals of a few more flowers before she picks out a couple more. She holds them up for In-ho to see. “These too.” 

In-ho inspects the white blooms for a moment. “You like jasmine?”

“Yes! It’s my birth flower– June eighth!”

In-ho’s expression softens. “Is that so?”

“Uh-huh! Appa says they symbolize loveliness.” She turns back to the displays looking them over carefully. After a moment of consideration, she grabs a handful of small, delicate blue flowers.

“And those?” In-ho prompts. 

“Forget-me-nots,” she says with a confident nod. “I think they’ll look nice with the rest of the flowers. 

In-ho simply watches as she cradles her chosen flowers, a bundle of white, pink, and now blue resting in her arms. He has to admit the flowers look good together, almost like an arrangement Gi-hun would make himself. 

“Ready?” he asks.

She beams at him. “Ready!”

Together they step out of the back room together, Ga-yeong leading the way and holding her flowers proudly in front of her as she walks. 

Eun-ji is waiting near the counter, arms crossed as she seems to finish another stern reminder to Gi-hun. As soon as she sees Ga-yeong though, her expression grows gentler. “All set sweetheart?” 

Ga-yeong nods enthusiastically. “Uh-huh. Look at the flowers Mr. Hwang helped me pick out!” 

Eun-ji smiles softly as she looks at the flowers her daughter holds. “They’re beautiful. You did a great job, honey.” Then, as if remembering herself, she turns back to Gi-hun, her expression hardening once more.

 “Eight o’clock, Gi-hun.”

“I know, I know.” He waves his hand dismissively. “I’ll have her home by then, don’t worry.” 

Eun-ji gives him a look like she very much does worry, but she says nothing else. With one last glance at her daughter she turns and leaves, the door jingling softly as it shuts behind her.

Gi-hun exhales slowly, rubbing the back of his neck before turning towards his daughter. His exhausted expression lightens when he looks at her, and he gestures towards the flowers in her hand. “Alright. Let’s see what you got here.” 

Ga-yeong approaches her father, stretching her hand out for him to look at the flowers she holds. He crouches down and inspects them with a fond smile. “Not bad– not bad at all,” he muses, gently brushing his fingers over the petals.

His touch lingers on the pink hydrangeas for a second longer than the rest and something flickers across his expression. It’s brief– just the faintest shift– but In-ho catches it, though he isn’t sure what to make of it. Before he can dwell on it, Gi-hun straightens and shakes his head as if he’s dispelling whatever thought had crossed his mind. 

“Alright,” he says, rolling up his sleeves. “Let’s get this wrapped up nicely before we go.” 

He moves to the table in the back, Ga-yeong trailing behind him. It only takes him a few minutes before he has the flowers ready, tucked in with sprigs and wrapped in a cream colored tissue paper. He hands them to his daughter with a flourish which earns him a delighted laugh and smile in return.

With a final nod to In-ho, he ushers Ga-yeong towards the door. 

“Just remember, I’m only a text or a phone call away. I mean it!.” Gi-hun says, stepping out the door as he does so. 

In-ho simply nods back at him, raising a hand in goodbye which Gi-hun returns before letting the door shut behind him with a soft chime.

The silence that follows is a relief.

Not that In-ho dislikes working with Gi-hun– he enjoys it more than he’d ever admit out loud if he’s being honest. But today, he’s grateful for the solitude, for the stillness before tomorrow.

Two years.

He runs a hand down his face before making his way to the back room of the shop. He doesn’t hesitate this time, doesn’t give himself time to second guess as he reaches for the stems. He’s been thinking about this for weeks now, studying and thinking about each flower and what they could mean, what they could represent. 

Tomorrow marks two years since he lost her. Since he lost them .

He pulls out purple daisies first– her favorite. He remembers how her face would brighten when they’d pass by a flower stand. How he couldn’t help but buy her a small bouquet just to see her smile. How he’d tuck one behind her ear, and she’d just beam at him before leaning in to kiss him softly.

He holds the delicate flowers gently in one hand, letting the soft petals ground him for a moment as the memory of her sweeps over him. He breathes softly, letting her smiling face fade from his mind before he steadies himself and reaches for the next flower he knows he wants to use. White chrysanthemums– a traditional mourning flower. They feel appropriate; a quiet acknowledgement of the immense grief and loss.

Then, heliotrope. In-ho had never paid much attention to the small purple flowers before, but working in the shop he’s found he appreciates them more. Gi-hun often uses them in bouquets requested for someone’s significant other. He said they represent devotion, eternal love. He’d scoffed at first, not seeing how flowers can communicate anything other than being pretty, but working as long as he has now he’s found he’s come to appreciate the way flowers can subtly communicate things that sometimes words cannot. 

In-ho takes the flowers and brings them outside to the working table, laying them out and studying them with a critical eye. The arrangement is nearly there, but it's missing something. Some more filler, maybe another flower. He isn’t sure. 

His mind drifts back to Ga-yeong earlier, to how excited she had been about including her birth flower. It had meant something to her. 

He hesitates for a brief moment before he pulls out his phone and searches for birth flowers. He types in the month first. February. The site loads for a few seconds before the dates flash on his screen. In-ho pauses on his own birthday for a moment. February 2nd – Quince . He hadn’t known that before. Supposedly the flower represented simplicity.

But that isn’t the date he’s looking for. He swallows, and scrolls a little further down. February 7th– Forget-me-nots. The same little blue flowers Ga-yeong chose earlier. 

In-ho exhales shakily, something in his chest tightening. He hasn’t let him think of that date in a long time. He’d buried it deep, locked it away with other things too painful to carry in the light of day. 

How fitting the flower is– forget-me-nots . The meaning in the name. He could never forget her, even if he never got to meet her. Never got to hold her. Their daughter . 

In-ho takes a shaky breath, steadying himself. He can’t let himself spiral. He has to finish this. He makes his way to the back room, already knowing where the little blue flowers are stored. He grabs a handful, his hands shaking slightly. 

When he makes his way back to the work table, he lays all the flowers out delicately. He moves slowly, deliberately, trimming each of the stems in a methodical manner and fitting them together. 

The bouquet comes together slowly, in pieces, only interrupted by the occasional chime of the door and a customer picking up an order. Each time In-ho’s able to compose himself just enough to manage the transaction before returning to his work. It’s a slow day, so not many people come in, which he is thankful for.

It only takes him around an hour, even with the interruptions. He’s focused–more focused than he’s ever been when making an arrangement before. But this one has meaning. A meaning important to him. So when he finishes it, it’s nearly perfect.

The flowers are cradled in a bed of green ferns, wrapped in a light brown paper, and tied tightly with twine. There is no card, no note. Just the flowers, and the meanings hidden within their delicate petals. 

In-ho stares at the bouquet for a long time, his hands on either side of it. Not touching it, not moving it. Just simply taking it in.

Somehow, he must miss the chime of the door opening, or the footsteps behind him. Because there’s a shift in the air, a presence behind him suddenly that has goosebumps prickling across the back of his neck. 

 Of course. Another customer. At least this time he’s not being interrupted. 

“Be with you in a moment,” In-ho says, his voice coming out a little rougher than usual.

There’s no reply. In-ho wonders for a moment if they even heard him.

But then, a touch. 

A hand, gentle and warm, rests against his shoulder.

In-ho stiffens immediately, but before he can pull away a voice speaks right behind him.

“In-ho?” 

A voice he knows. Soft and full of disbelief. 

He turns slowly. His breath catches in his throat. 

Standing behind him still in his uniform is his brother, eyes wide and glistening. 

“Jun-ho.”

He doesn’t get the chance to say anything else. He barely even has time to process the moment before Jun-ho closes the distance between them and pulls him into a hug.

In-ho doesn’t move at first. Too overwhelmed, too stunned. Too ashamed .

But then his hands rise slowly before they grip onto the other man’s jacket. Clinging to him like he might fall apart if he lets go.

They remain like that for a long moment, frozen in an embrace they both very much needed in the middle of the shop. 

In-ho doesn’t realize how tightly he’s holding Jun-ho until he finally pulls away. 

But gone is the expression of stunned relief. Something sharper replaces it, tension wrinkling his features. 

“You’ve been here?” Jun-ho asks, his voice low. “The whole time?” 

In-ho opens his mouth. Wanting to say something, wanting to explain. Instead, nothing comes out. 

“Two years, hyung.” Jun-ho shakes his head. “Two years . And you’ve been thirty minutes away from me? From mom? No phone call, no text. Not a damn word from you this entire time?”

In-ho flinches like the words are physical.

“We thought you were dead . I thought you–” He cuts himself off, clearly unable to bring himself to say what he wants to say. He takes a deep, shaking breath before seemingly regathering himself. “And you’ve just been here. Hiding.”

“I wasn’t hiding,” In-ho says, though he’s not sure he believes it. His voice is hoarse. “I just– I couldn’t–” 

The rest doesn’t come– the words catch in his throat and linger there, uncomfortable. Choking him. His shoulders sag.

“I’m sorry,” he manages, though it comes out as a pitiful whisper. 

Jun-ho stares at him for a long moment. And then slowly his anger fades, peeling back like a tide. Something flickers across his face. Something like understanding, but not from anything In-ho has said.

Instead, his gaze lands on the bouquet behind him. 

“What is that?” Jun-ho asks, his voice quiet.

In-ho follows his gaze and swallows thickly. “A bouquet,” he murmurs. “For them. For tomorrow.” 

Jun-ho’s eyes linger on it, his throat bobbing before he shifts his gaze back to In-ho. “She would have loved it. You always were good about remembering her favorite flowers.” 

In-ho doesn’t trust himself to speak, so he just nods. 

There’s a long beat of silence, both men clearly unsure how to progress. Talking about her never got easier.  

After a moment, Jun-ho clears his throat. “I actually didn’t come here looking for you. Didn’t even know you were here.” 

In-ho’s gaze flicks from the bouquet to look at Jun-ho. 

“I was on patrol. I’ve seen this place a few times before on this route. I always thought it was…” Jun-ho gestures vaguely around the store. “Nice. Quiet. I thought I’d stop in. Get her something too. For tomorrow.” 

The words hit him square in the chest. In-ho quickly looks away. 

“...She always loved you,” In-ho says, his voice thin. “You meant the world to her.” 

Jun-ho exhales shakily. “I know. I think about her all the time. About you all the time.” His gaze drops back to the bouquet. “And I know it’s her name on that headstone, but I think about the baby too. I know we never met her. But I still miss her.” 

In-ho closes his eyes, his jaw clenching. 

“I’m sorry,” Jun-ho says quickly, sensing In-ho’s clear discomfort. “I just– I never forgot. I didn’t want you to think I ever would.”

In-ho doesn’t say anything. Instead, he turns back to the bouquet and picks it up gently, examining it. Gently touching the petals, straightening the ferns– trying to keep himself grounded because he fears if he speaks, he may just shatter. 

Jun-ho watches him for a moment before he steps closer, placing a hand on the table. “Let me pick you up tomorrow. We can go together.” 

In-ho finally looks at him, his grip tightening on the bouquet. “You don’t have to do that–”

“I want to,” Jun-ho interrupts, his voice firm. “I’ve wanted to. For two years. Let me do this with you. Please.” 

In-ho hesitates. If it had been anyone else, he would say no. But looking at his brother’s face, the earnest expression there– he always had a hard time saying no to him. 

“...Okay.” In-ho says after a long moment.

Jun-ho’s shoulders seem to relax the moment In-ho agrees. Like the tension he’s been carrying around for two years seems to finally lift– at least a little bit. 

“Good.” He pats around in his pockets for a moment before he pulls out his phone. “Now give me your number. And don’t even think about giving me a fake one.”

In-ho huffs out a small laugh, but sets the bouquet down gently. He rattles off the numbers as Jun-ho types them in on his screen. A moment later, In-ho’s phone buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out, seeing his brother’s name on the screen next to a message that simply reads “It’s me.”

“Now send me your address,” Jun-ho demands, pointing at the phone in In-ho’s hand. “Right now. I don’t trust you to remember later.” 

In-ho raises a brow. “When did you get so pushy?” 

“I had to adapt. You’re more stubborn than ever.” Jun-ho leans forward, watching as In-ho types. His fingers tap impatiently against the table.

Once his own phone buzzes in his hand, Jun-ho looks satisfied before he straightens. “Okay. Well, I need to get back to the station. But I’ll pick you up tomorrow. Is nine okay?”

“Yes,” In-ho says, nodding. “Nine is fine.” 

They both linger there for a second. It’s clear neither of them are quite ready to say goodbye just yet. But after a moment, Jun-ho awkwardly lifts a hand before letting it drop back loosely to his side. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says quietly. 

In-ho nods once more. “Okay.” 

He watches as Jun-ho goes– his younger brother, and yet in this moment it feels as though he’s the one more grown out of the two of them.

In-ho looks back at the flowers in his hand. He needs to put them in water, tuck them in a fridge for the rest of the day to preserve them before tomorrow. But for the moment, he just allows himself to stare at them.

 Something in his chest loosens. It’s not quite relief or peace. But an ache that’s been living there has eased into something softer. Not gone, but lighter. 

For the first time in two years, the day ahead of him doesn’t feel like a burden he has to carry alone. For the first time in two years, he has a part of his family back. And while the thought is scary, he finds that he’s more grateful than afraid for the first time in a long time.

___________________________

In-ho’s apartment is quiet when he steps inside. The rest of the day had been uneventful after his short lived reunion– but tiredness still seeps deep into his bones. The weight of the day and what tomorrow brings sits heavily on his shoulders. 

As he toes his shoes off, his phone buzzes in his coat pocket. 

He pulls it out, half expecting a text from Jun-ho. Instead, Gi-hun’s name lights up on the screen. 

In-ho taps the message. A photo loads: Ga-yeong grinning from ear to ear, holding up a drawing of a bouquet in what looks like crayon. Scribbles of white and pink with dots of blue– the bouquet she had made earlier in the day. Gi-hun is next to her in the photo, his smile as wide as hers and eyes crinkled at the edges. It’s the happiest In-ho thinks he’s ever seen him. 

Under the photo, there’s another text.

Gi-hun [7:55 PM]: Thanks for watching the shop today. Ga-yeong wanted me to show you her art!

There’s a pink flower emoji tacked on to the end of the text. 

In-ho stares at it for a lot longer than he intends to. Then, his fingers move slowly across the screen.

In-ho [7:56 PM]: It looks great. She takes after you. 

A moment passes. Then he adds:

In-ho [7:56 PM]: I was glad to take over for you. I hope you both had a great day. 

He hits send before setting his phone down nearby. He moves to shrug off his coat but stops. 

A cough builds in his throat. Something familiar now, practically a routine. He lifts his hand to his mouth trying to muffle the sound. 

Two short coughs. They’re sharp, but don’t burn like usual. He wonders briefly if he may just in fact have some sort of allergy to something in the shop after all. 

As he pulls his hand away, he notices them again

Two white daisy petals cling to the cuff of his sleeve. One of them is bent slightly, like it had been pressed between the fabric and his skin. He plucks them off with a sigh, crushing them both in his hand. 

He doesn’t think too hard about them anymore. They’ve simply become another part of his routine. A petal in his collar, stuck to his sleeve, trapped between folds of his coat. Sometimes he even finds them on his pillow in the morning, some still sticking to his hair when he wakes up.

It’s strange, but he supposes it’s not uncommon for someone in this line of work. Why they are always daisy petals, he isn’t quite sure. He chalks it up to coincidence. 

He tosses the petals into the trash on his way to his bed, unbuttoning his shirt and tossing it into the nearby hamper as he walks. He hits the lights and all but collapses into his awaiting bed. 

And In-ho, heavy with the weight tomorrow brings him and the strange comfort of a reunion, closes his eyes and slips into restless sleep.

Chapter Text

Chapter 6: In Bloom

In-ho doesn’t sleep much. He tries. But many of the hours are spent staring at the ceiling in vain. He tosses and turns, his mind flipping through moments of the day before. Meeting Gi-hun’s daughter, making the bouquet– seeing Jun-ho of all people.

At some point, he must have fallen asleep. Because suddenly he’s startled awake by his phone buzzing loudly on his nightstand, the screen glowing brightly in the dimness of the room. 

Jun-ho [8:30 AM]: On my way.  

In-ho sits up quickly, rubbing a hand down his face. He’s usually out of bed much earlier than this– how had he slept this long? He curses under his breath as he realizes he’ll have to ask Jun-ho to take him back to the shop since he planned to pick up the bouquet and walk back before his brother came to get him. He had hoped the early morning walk would help ease some of his nerves. But now, he surely wouldn’t make it.

In-ho sighs, his limbs heavy as he pulls himself from the bed. But the morning would not wait for him. 

He quickly dresses, thankful he thought ahead enough to lay his clothes out the morning before. A dark button up, a dark soft coat. It felt the most respectful. Appropriate.

By the time Jun-ho pulls up, In-ho is outside looking put together somehow despite his rush. They don’t talk much during the car ride to the shop, but In-ho doesn’t mind the silence.

The flower shop is warm when he steps in, settling over him like a familiar blanket. The bell above him chimes, and Gi-hun’s head pops up from behind the counter. 

“Oh, In-ho!” Gi-hun smiles, too wide and too cheerful for the early hour. “Could have sworn you said you wouldn’t be in today until later– Did I get the day wrong?”

In-ho shakes his head. “No. Just picking something up.” 

Gi-hun peers at him curiously. “Is it the bouquet in the fridge? The one with the daisies and forget-me-nots?” 

In-ho nods. “Yes. That’s the one.” 

Gi-hun hums before his gaze is drawn to something behind In-ho. He leans on the counter, squinting to see out the window.  “No way. You got a chauffeur now?” His eyes light up with curiosity. “That guy’s kind of handsome too. Is he your friend?” 

In-ho gives him a flat look. “He’s my brother.” 

Gi-hun blinks at him. “Brother? You never mentioned you had a brother!”

“There’s a lot I haven’t said.” 

Gi-hun raises an eyebrow at him, but he doesn’t push. “Fair enough.” 

He disappears into the back for a moment, reappearing a few moments later with the bouquet in hand. He hands it over to In-ho who takes it gently into his grasp. 

“Thank you,” In-ho says softly. He reaches into his pocket, pulling out his wallet. 

Gi-hun immediately makes a noise of offense. “Hey. No way. Don’t even try it.”

“I’m paying.” In-ho states firmly, flipping it open.

“You are absolutely not.”

In-ho frowns. “Gi-hun.”

Gi-hun is already circling around the counter, waving a hand at him like he was trying to bat away a fly. “Put it away. You think I’m gonna charge you for this?” He nods at the bouquet. “Come on, man.”

“You have a business to run. It really isn’t a big deal–”

“Hey! It is a big deal. Business or not, I have a moral code, and that moral code says I don’t take money from friends– especially when it's clearly for something important.”

Friends?

That makes In-ho falter, a cough bubbling up into his chest. He clears his throat into a hand before he looks up and catches Gi-hun’s expression. Stubborn, unwavering. He means what he says. He sighs before sliding the wallet back into his coat pocket. “...Fine.”

Gi-hun grins at him triumphantly. His gaze falls back to the bouquet in In-ho’s grasp, before flitting back up to In-ho’s face. “You know– if you need the whole day off, you could take it. I’ve got it covered. Seriously.” 

“I’ll be back in the afternoon,” In-ho replies, turning towards the door. He pauses before he opens it. “...Work helps.” 

Gi-hun gives a small salute, more playful than anything. “I’ll be here when you get back.” 

In-ho shakes his head, but something loosens in chest making him feel lighter as he steps out into the early morning sun. 

___________________________

The graveyard is quiet. 

There’s a gentle breeze in the air carrying a sweet scent on the wind. The few trees nearby sway softly, the branches whispering distantly. The sky is a pale and washed out blue. Cloudless and calm– a day she would have liked. 

Jun-ho parks near the edge of the cemetery and turns the engine off. Neither man moving at first.

In-ho’s hands curl into the bouquet resting gently in his lap. He rubs a soft petal in between his fingers as he stares out the window towards where he knows his wife is buried. 

Jun-ho breaks the silence by opening the car door. In-ho breathes slowly then follows suit. 

The walk is short. Familiar. He hasn’t been here since the funeral. Couldn’t bring himself to come see her that first year without her, the thought of seeing her grave too painful to bear alone.

Her grave is clean and taken care of when they finally approach it. Someone has been visiting. There’s a small stone rabbit sitting at the base, with an even smaller one sitting next to it– something from his stepmother he guesses.

In-ho kneels down slowly, placing the bouquet in the little brass container attached to the stone. The colors immediately brighten the space around it, soft and full of life just like she used to be.

Jun-ho stands, silent and still beside him.

In-ho brushes his hands against the smooth stone, his fingers lingering on the picture there of his wife’s smiling face. After a moment he finally stands, brushing his palms against his coat. He stands next to Jun-ho side-by-side and says nothing. 

Minutes pass.

“I thought I would be angry with you when I saw you again,” Jun-ho says, finally, his voice strained with something fragile. “But I was just relieved. Stupidly relieved.”

His voice catches. In-ho looks over at him.

Jun-ho isn’t looking at him. His gaze is locked on the bouquet in front of him, his jaw tight.

“You gave up your kidney to save me. Then she got sick. I can’t help but think…” he cuts himself off, shaking his head. “I thought you regretted it. Maybe if you could have kept it, it could have helped you pay for treatment. I don’t know.” Jun-ho trails off, his voice cracking. When In-ho turns to look at him, there are tears glistening in his red-rimmed eyes; unfallen but unmistakable.

In-ho realizes now what his silence must have felt like to Jun-ho– to his step mother. What his disappearance must have looked like to the only family he had left. All this time, he felt like he was shielding them from the broken man that came back from those games, from the absent man that wasn’t there when his wife died.

But really, he had just left them in the dark. Too much of a coward to actually face them, too ashamed of who he had let himself become. Too wrapped up in his own guilt and misery to see the people still reaching out for him. He thought he had been sparing them– but all he did was make them feel abandoned. Forgotten. Blamed .

“Don’t ever say that,” In-ho’s voice is low, but firm. There’s no room for argument in it. “I would do it again. In a heartbeat.”

His eyes stay fixed on Jun-ho, his hand drifting to his side as his fingers brush over the old scar there. The same long, pale line he shares with the man in front of him. A mark of the choice he made. A reminder that part of him lives within Jun-ho.

“You’re my brother, Jun-ho.”

And that has never been something he’s regretted. 

Jun-ho’s breath hitches. He looks away suddenly, a hand coming up to scrub across his face with a frustrated exhale. 

“I just…” he starts, then falters. “You were always so strong. You were always the one holding us together. Then you were just… gone.” Jun-ho shakes his head, his brows furrowing. “You didn’t answer us. You changed your number. Mom cried for weeks . I thought that you–” his voice cracks again. He pauses for a moment, swallowing before he seems to compose himself. “I thought you hated me. Hated us. That I was the reason she wasn’t here anymore.” 

“You aren’t,” In-ho says quietly, but firmly. “You aren’t. How could I ever think that?”

Jun-ho finally turns to look at him. His expression is raw, no longer hiding anything. His grief is bared, vulnerable. It’s tangled with an expression of guilt, of anger. Of love. 

“I would have been there for you, if you had needed me. I would have done anything to help you. If you had just let me. Let us –”

“I know,” In-ho interrupts. “I know that now. I’m sorry.”

There’s a pause. The air around them feels heavy. In-ho shifts uncomfortably.

“I wasn’t… me anymore,” In-ho admits after a long moment, his voice quiet. “After she died. After everything I did. I wasn’t the man I used to be. Not the one you remembered anymore. I couldn’t bear to have you see me like that. To see what was left.” 

“I don’t care what’s left,” Jun-ho says, stepping forward. “You’re my brother. I won’t let you go through any of this alone.” And then he pulls him into a hug. 

This time, In-ho doesn’t hesitate.

His arms come up to wrap around Jun-ho, and for the moment he just lets himself feel it. The warmth of his brother, the faint but familiar smell of aftershave clinging to his clothes. He’s solid in his arms. Real.

But as he closes his eyes, a weight still lingers– something he can’t share so easily. 

There’s still so much he wants to say. But he can’t. Not now. Maybe not ever. The things he’s seen– the things he’s done. Those six days he’d vanished, only to return shaking and silent, money in hand that couldn’t buy back the time he lost or the lives he wanted to save with it. Winning meant nothing. The money meant nothing. The lives he’d doomed to survive had meant nothing .

He swallows hard. He doesn’t know how to explain it to Jun-ho. Where to even begin if he tried to. 

But this moment– this embrace between them– it feels like something. Like the things he thought he lost for good might not actually be totally gone. Like he was finally taking a step in the right direction. He could never be himself again, not really. But maybe he could find a way back to something close.

A way back to family. 

They both stand there for a long moment, two silhouettes bathed in the early morning light surrounded by gravestones and the silent memories of a woman they both loved. 

Jun-ho is the first to pull away. He sniffs and turns his head, wiping at his eyes as he tries to reassemble himself. Suddenly, a small laugh escapes him. 

“She would kick both our asses over all this you know,” he says.

In-ho lets out the smallest breath of a laugh in response. “She really would have.” 

They stand there for a moment before Jun-ho exhales slowly. He clears his throat, like he’s trying to get rid of whatever is left clinging to him. “She’d probably tell us we look like shit. Then ask if we have eaten anything that wasn’t from a vending machine or made in a microwave lately.”

In-ho huffs through his nose. “Sounds about right.” 

There’s a beat of silence between them. An easy quiet, settled. Like neither of them are quite ready to leave just yet. 

Jun-ho rocks back on his heels, glancing towards the path leading out of the cemetery. “You…eaten anything today actually?” he asks.

In-ho raises a brow. “It’s barely ten.” 

“So no then?” 

In-ho doesn’t answer. He just turns his head towards the car and nods. “Do you…have a place in mind?”

Jun-ho thinks for a moment before he smiles. “Remember that old place you used to drag me to when I was a little kid? The dumpling place. I think that's nearby.” 

“With the old lady that always yelled at us?” 

Jun-ho frowns. “You don’t think she’s still there do you?” 

In-ho shrugs. “We can find out together.” 

___________________________

The meal between them is familiar, easy. Easier than expected. They don’t talk about anything important, just small talk– a new coffee place Jun-ho has been to recently. How In-ho found himself working at the flower shop. Jun-ho can’t stop himself from laughing when In-ho explains he didn’t even mean to be working there in the first place. 

“I’m glad you ended up there, though,” Jun-ho says, his expression light from the laughter that overtook him moments before. “It led me back to you.”

In-ho gives him a small smile in return. “I’m glad, too.”

When they finish their meal, Jun-ho insists on paying, waving off In-ho’s quiet protest to pay for it all himself. He insists that he’ll pay for the next meal, to which Jun-ho agrees. 

The drive back to the shop is quiet, but not uncomfortable. There’s a peace between them, like everything is back to the way it used to be. Or at least, almost back the way it used to be. 

By the time Jun-ho pulls up to the front of the shop, the day has warmed and brightened. People walk by on the sidewalk. Some stop to admire the new displays in the window that Gi-hun must have made that morning, their petals sparkling in the sunlight.

In-ho reaches for the door handle, but Jun-ho speaks before he can step out. 

“Thank you for letting me come with you today,” he says, his voice quiet. “Really.” 

In-ho’s expression softens. “I didn’t realize it before but…I needed you there. If anyone should be thanked, it should be you.”

Jun-ho’s gaze lingers on In-ho for a moment, before he shifts in his seat and glances towards the shop. “You wouldn’t mind if I… stopped by sometimes would you? To bother you.”

In-ho quirks an eyebrow at him. “Do I have a choice?” 

Jun-ho smirks. “No, you don’t. What days do you usually work?”

“Wednesdays through Fridays. Sometimes Gi-hun has me come on other days, but those days stay consistent.” 

Jun-ho nods at him. “Good. I’ll bring you a coffee or something next time I show up. Still drink it black?”

In-ho pushes open the door, finally stepping out. “Always have. Take care, Jun-ho.” He hesitates for a moment before he adds “And…tell mom I said hi. And that I’ll try to visit soon.” 

Jun-ho smiles softly at him. “She would like that.” 

___________________________

Gi-hun is near the door when In-ho walks back into the shop for the second time that day. He’s arranging a cluster of peonies in the window, fussing over the leaves before he stops and flashes a grin at In-ho once he realizes it’s him that’s walked through the door.

“Oh good, it’s you. I was worried for a moment that you might be another customer coming in to yell at me.”

In-ho furrows his brow, pausing as he takes off his coat. “Someone yelled at you?” 

“Oh nothing serious. Just a little old lady who was mad over the price of tulips. I ended up giving her them for the old price just to get her out of my hair.” 

In-ho lets out a small huff and shakes his head as he makes his way back behind the front counter. Gi-hun trails after him, taking a moment to fidget with the cup of pens up there before he finally fixes his attention back on In-ho. He studies him briefly for a moment. In-ho tries to ignore him, knows the other man has questions about him. About his previously estranged brother. He’s not an idiot either. In-ho knows that he himself is not easily readable but Gi-hun saw the bouquet, knows what the flowers mean. It isn’t hard to put two and two together. 

“Did everything go okay? With you and your brother?” he asks, the question careful. 

“Yes,” In-ho says, nodding. “It did.”

Gi-hun hums softly. “That’s good.” 

A quiet moment passes between them, both men staring at each other with something like an understanding between them. Eventually, In-ho averts his gaze, busying himself with the stack of new receipts on the counter. Gi-hun looks away soon after, clearing his throat and then tapping one of the receipts In-ho has in his hand. 

“You think you could handle that one? She’s coming later today to pick it up.”

In-ho glances over the receipt. Red peonies, sunflowers. Simple and easy. In-ho rolls up his sleeves and nods. “That the only one needing done?” 

Gi-hun taps the edge of another receipt in the stack. “There’s definitely a few more in there. I might’ve left the more complicated ones for you to do.” 

In-ho gives him a look, dry and amused. “How generous of you.”

Gi-hun just grins at him as he heads off to rearrange one of the displays in the window. In-ho watches him leave, his gaze lingering for a beat as he tries to ignore the smile tugging at the corner of his lips. 

The next few hours pass in a quiet, comfortable rhythm. Gi-hun flits around the shop while In-ho works on bouquets and arrangements that are needed by the end of the day. They don’t speak much, but In-ho appreciates it. He’s happy to do the work, finds it to be a nice distraction from the weight of the day. And while he and Gi-hun usually chat aimlessly throughout the day, the other man must sense that In-ho needs the quiet today. He only throws an occasional comment his way and keeps it light, brief.

“Hey now,” Gi-hun says, pointing to one of the bouquets In-ho is finishing up. “Yours are starting to look better than mine. People are going to start asking for you by name if you aren’t careful.” He gives In-ho a look of mock disapproval.

In-ho quirks an eyebrow. “You’d like that. Less work for you to do.” 

Gi-hun laughs. “You got me there.”

It’s the closest they’ve come to their usual banter of the day. Brief, but easy. Something settles over him– a feeling of ease. Like he really does belong here– if not forever, then at least for now. And, surprisingly, the thought doesn’t frighten him. 

The peaceful lull is soon broken mid-afternoon by the jingling chime of the door as it swings open suddenly. A gust of cold air fills the room and with it comes a loud, booming voice.

“In-ho! Hey!” 

In-ho looks up to see Jung-bae approaching him– smiling with a static energy radiating off of him in waves. 

“Jung-bae.” In-ho says simply, giving the man a polite nod. But something makes him pause, his gaze lingering on the man’s face.

Jung-bae looks… happy. Animated. Which is nothing out of the ordinary for him. But his cheeks are noticeably red. Not a flushed kind of red from overexertion or embarrassment– red as in painful. Like the man had been slapped– multiple times if judging by the uneven sting of what looked like fingerprints imprinted on his cheeks. In-ho’s eyes narrow. Curious. Did he finally say the wrong thing to the wrong person and pay the price? Or maybe his wife finally had enough of him. He’d overheard Gi-hun and him chatting before about his wife and how they weren’t getting along as of late. Surely even if they were in bad standing she wouldn’t slap him over and over like this. Before he can open his mouth to ask any questions though–

“Jung-bae? That you?” Gi-hun calls from the back room.

“Of course it's me– who else sounds this good looking?” Jung-bae shouts back, grinning from ear to ear. He bounces a little on his heels.

A moment later, Gi-hun comes through the back room’s door, a towel slung over his shoulders and a bundle of various flowers in his grip. 

He gives Jung-bae an incredulous look. “ Yikes – what the hell happened to you?” 

Jung-bae rubs one of his reddened cheeks, wincing slightly as his hand makes contact. “It really looks that bad huh?”

Gi-hun frowns. “Have you looked in a mirror? Who the hell did you piss off, man?”

Jung-bae throws his hands in the air. “Nobody! That’s the thing. You aren’t gonna believe what just happened to me, man.”

Gi-hun groans, waving the other man to the back. “Come back here first, I might have something you can put on your face.”

In-ho watches them disappear into the back room, shaking his head faintly to himself. He turns back to the counter and attempts to refocus on the task at hand. But he can’t help but overhear Jung-bae’s loud booming voice in the next room over.

“I’m telling you man. The subway station is dead empty. Then this guy just shows up out of nowhere– tall, handsome, and wearing a tailored suit– he comes up to me and asks if I wanna play ddakji. You know, like how we used to when we were kids? But he says that he’ll give me money every time I can beat him.” 

Gi-hun snorts. “And you said yes?” 

“Of course I did! I thought maybe I was on a television show or something. The catch was he slapped the hell out of me every time I lost. Then finally– bam – I flip it over. And he just hands me a hundred thousand won. Like it’s nothing!” 

In-ho’s hands still, his blood turning to ice. The pen in his grip slips from his grasp and clatters onto the floor below. He doesn’t hear it over the ringing in his ears. Over the panicked voice in his head that’s screaming at him to move .

He doesn’t mean to push the door to the back room open so forcefully. But it hits the wall with a loud thwack . Both Gi-hun and Jung-bae look up at him in surprise.

“In-ho?” Gi-hun asks, his brows drawing together. “Are you okay?”

He ignores him, his gaze locked on Jung-bae who fidgets uncomfortably under his intense stare.

“The card,” In-ho says, his voice coming out low and hoarse. “The one he gave you after you won. There’s three shapes on it. Circle, triangle, square.”

Jung-bae’s eyes widen. "What– How did you know that. I didn’t even–”

“Show it to me.” It’s not an ask, but a demand. “Now.”

Jung-bae’s cheerful demeanor from earlier completely fades away now. He stares at In-ho, clearly unsettled by the intensity in his eyes– by the serious and pale expression that overtakes his usual stoic face. 

He slowly reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a light brown card. Jung-bae holds it out to In-ho wordlessly and he snatches it from his hand. 

There it is. The same cheap material. The same shapes, the ink smudged from the hands that held it. The exact same one that had been handed to him two years ago, like a key to hell. 

This can’t be happening again .

In-ho stares at the card, his hands trembling as he turns it over in his grip. He doesn’t even register the numbers on the back before he rips it in half down the center. Then again. And again. Until the pieces are nothing more than scraps in his hands. He lets them fall to the floor below, scattering amongst the fallen petals from the shop. 

“ Dude – What the fuck ?” Jung-bae blurts out at him, blinking in disbelief. He starts to bend down to grab the torn pieces. “They said if I called that number, I could–”

A hand to Jung-bae’s chest stops him, pushing him forward 

“Don’t,” In-ho warns, his tone sharp. “Leave it.” 

Jung-bae lets In-ho push him, and he straightens, looking unsettled. 

“They said I could–” 

“Play more games? Win more money?” In-ho cuts in. “Am I right?”

Gi-hun shifts uncomfortably nearby, his eyes flitting back and forth between the two men in front of him.

“How do you know all this?” Jung-bae asks, his voice quiet and trembling. 

In-ho doesn’t answer. His hand moves from Jung-bae’s chest and instead comes up to grip his shoulders. 

“ How much debt are you in ?” In-ho demands, his voice low. 

Jung-bae tries to shift out of his grip but fails. “That’s not– Look it’s bad, alright? But that’s my problem.” 

“ Listen to me ,” In-ho hisses. “Whatever it is– whatever loan sharks you got breathing down your neck– it is nothing compared to what these people will put you through.”

Jung-bae shrinks underneath In-ho’s hands. His eyes search In-ho’s expression, looking for something. Whatever he finds there makes him look away, unable to bear it. 

Gi-hun finally steps forward. “In-ho,” he says, slow and careful. A hand reaches out and hovers over one of In-ho’s arms that’s still outstretched and gripping Jung-bae’s shoulders. He places it there, his touch light. Grounding. “What’s going on? What did they do to you?” 

In-ho doesn’t answer, but takes in a trembling breath. “Don’t call that number. Ever.” 

Jung-bae is pale now despite the red marks still marring his face. His eyes flick to Gi-hun nervously, then back to In-ho’s face.

“...Okay,” he says finally. 

The unease between them still lingers, though. Jung-bae’s gaze drifts back to the torn card pieces on the floor, an almost mournful look on his face. In-ho slowly drops his hands from his shoulders and takes a step back. His face is drawn tight. Tense. 

“Whatever you owe,” he starts, watching as Jung-bae’s head snaps back up to look at him. “I’ll cover it.”

Jung-bae looks taken aback. “What– are you crazy ?” His hands come up in front of him and move animatedly. “ No . I don’t need– how would you even– what are you even saying ?”

“I’m serious.” In-ho’s voice is flat. There is no underlying trick to the offer. Just a genuine urgency. “Don’t let them find you again.”

Jung-bae hesitates, his mouth opening and closing as he tries to find words that seem to escape him. His hand lifts to the red marks still lingering on his cheek, as if remembering the marks are still there. Then, with a soft exhale, he takes a step back.

“Okay,” he finally mutters. “Yeah. Um. I think I should…go.”

Neither In-ho nor Gi-hun say anything as the man moves to the door. Jung-bae pauses in the door frame for a moment. He looks over his shoulder at Gi-hun but says nothing. A look passes between the two men. Concern, confusion. In-ho isn’t sure. 

Both men stay standing in the back room, neither moving. Gi-hun stares at In-ho, clearly holding himself back from saying something, as In-ho completely avoids his gaze. They stand there until they both hear the chime from the front door swinging open as Jung-bae presumably leaves. The sound seems to cut through the tense air between them. Whatever spell has them frozen there still and silent is broken as In-ho takes a deep breath to collect himself before he turns and quickly walks out of the room. 

For a while, the shop is quiet. They both return to work, but Gi-hun must sense that In-ho needs the space because he doesn’t say anything to him. Instead, he focuses all his attention on a bouquet that needs trimming while In-ho busies himself behind the counter organizing things that don’t need to be organized. Neither of them speak.

But Gi-hun keeps glancing over. In-ho tries to ignore it.

It’s written all over his face. His eyebrows are pinched, his lips are set in a straight line. His movements are slower, he can practically see the gears turning in his head as the man thinks. The usual silence between them is something comfortable– this silence is not. 

Still, to give Gi-hun credit, he holds himself back. He says nothing.

For a while. 

As the sun begins to dip lower in the sky, the light filtering in painting the shop amber in its rays, Gi-hun finally breaks. 

“Okay,” he starts slowly, softly setting down the clippers in his hand. “What the hell was that?”

In-ho doesn’t look up from behind the counter. He keeps his hands busy as he continues to roll up a spool of ribbon that came unravelled earlier in the day. He feels Gi-hun’s stare as it bores into him.

“It was nothing,” he finally says, his tone stern. 

Gi-hun folds his arms. “It was obviously something . You tore up that business card like it was poison, In-ho. Then offered to pay my friend’s debts. I know what I pay you, and it’s definitely not enough to cover what Jung-bae’s got himself into.” 

In-ho’s jaw tightens. He swallows thickly.

Gi-hun watches him for a long moment, then lets out a long sigh. “Look– I never try to push you. But if something is happening–if something did happen. I just want to know you’re okay.”

“I’m fine,” In-ho replies too quickly. 

Gi-hun’s eyes narrow. “Did you go through it?” 

In-ho looks up from the spool of ribbon in his hands. His eyes snap to Gi-hun’s, cautious and warning. The ribbon slips from his fingers and begins to unspool again. 

Gi-hun holds his gaze. “The games. Whatever that was– You knew so much about it, enough to scare Jung-bae with what you knew. Did you go through them?” 

In-ho doesn’t respond. Instead, his body goes tense. Rigid. A warning to not dig any deeper as he looks away from the other man.

But Gi-hun steps forward. 

“In-ho,” he starts, his voice low but sharp. “They almost took my friend. Jung-bae was lucky you were here to stop him. But what if they come back? What are we dealing with exactly?”

In-ho grips the spool tightly in his hand, the plastic surely leaving deep indents in his palm. His voice, when he finally finds it, comes out hoarse. “They target people in trouble. People drowning in debt. Desperate for any way out of it.” 

He leans against the counter, his hand not holding the spool grips it tightly and digs into the surface of it. 

“They make you play games– like ones you played growing up. It’s fine at first. Until it isn’t.” His eyes flick to Gi-hun who is still staring at him, listening intensely. “If you want to win– if you want to survive …” 

He trails off. What remains unspoken hangs heavy in the air. 

Gi-hun goes still. There’s a long silence before he finally opens his mouth. “When you say survive… did you…?”

Don’t ask me that. In-ho thinks. But he doesn’t say anything to Gi-hun’s question– which seems to be an answer enough for the other man.

Gi-hun looks stricken. “Why didn’t you go to the police?”

“It’s not that simple. I was a police officer before, like I told you. I didn’t have any evidence– and I wasn’t exactly in good enough standing with anyone there anymore.” In-ho says quietly. 

Gi-hun’s mouth shuts. He looks sick, running a hand down his face as he exhales slowly. He doesn’t speak for a long moment.

Finally, he says, “Before I opened up this place, I was a lot like Jung-bae. I was in a lot of debt. A lot of gambling debt– horse racing specifically. I thought one of these days, I was gonna win big. Outsmart the odds or something.” He lets out a dry and humorless laugh. “It’s why my ex divorced me. She couldn’t take it anymore. I honestly don’t blame her.” 

He takes a moment and looks around the shop. At the flowers. At the peacefulness of it all. “I was…lucky. I hit a point where I knew I needed to do something. Somehow, I finally seemed to make the right decision that had me end up right where I needed to be. That I never hit that low point where those people might have made their way to me.”

In-ho continues to say nothing. His jaw tightens as he takes in what Gi-hun is saying. The idea of someone like Gi-hun in a place like that– it doesn’t fit. He tries hard to imagine him there in the green jumpsuit under those bright fluorescent lights; tries to imagine him playing in the games– but he finds that he can’t. Gi-hun wouldn’t survive in a place like that. Not because he was weak, but because someone like him couldn’t do the unthinkable. Not for any amount of money. 

Unlike himself. 

Gi-hun looks at him again, softer now. “Whatever happened– whatever they made you do… They took advantage of you. They prey on people, just like you said.”

Gi-hun steps closer. “You’re a good person, In-ho. I know you are.”

In-ho swallows hard, his eyes wide as they stare into Gi-hun’s own. Those words catch him off guard. They linger in the air like the scent of flowers around them. You’re a good person, In-ho. I know you are.

For a moment, everything seems to still. No noise, no movement. Just the faint echo of those words in his head and Gi-hun’s eyes staring softly at him with no fear, no judgement. But with something worse. Tenderness, kindness. Belief. Belief in him of all people. 

In-ho doesn’t deserve that. He still drinks it in like a dying man would water in a desert. He can’t remember the last time someone looked at him like that. Not since…

It hits In-ho hard, like a tide overtaking him. 

An ache in his chest. Gi-hun, this strange yet kind-hearted man who looks at him like he hasn’t done the unforgivable, somehow has not only carved out a peaceful haven full of flowers and light in the middle of the chaotic city of Seoul– but has somehow carved a place inside In-ho too. Taken root somewhere deep inside of him without asking, without force. Just did so and simply stayed there. Like it was where he belonged all along. 

He doesn’t know what to do with this. How to hold feelings so gentle without breaking them. 

Regardless, a feeling blooms in his chest. Familiar– he knows this feeling but has not felt for a long time. Warmth. It scares him. It comforts him. The roots fill cracks inside him that had long gone numb.

In-ho opens his mouth to speak. He doesn’t know what to say, but he tries anyway– but only two words escape. “Gi-hun, I–” 

Then pain . Like the roots twist and turn inside his chest, squeezing his lungs tightly like a snake squeezes the life out of its prey.

The blooming is no longer figurative but literal. Something is in his throat, scratching and stuck there as it expands. He coughs– once, twice– then doubles over as the third overtakes him. The spool of ribbon drops from his hands, clattering to the floor below as his hand comes up to grip onto the counter. His fingers dig into its surface as his other hand clutches his chest like he can somehow hold himself together. 

Gi-hun is at his side in an instant, a steady hand on his lower back and murmuring something low and concerned. In-ho doesn’t hear him, can’t hear him over his own wracking coughs. His skin prickles underneath the other man’s hand. It almost burns .

He jerks away from the contact, the coughing worsening. His vision swims.

“Water,” he finally manages to rasp out, his voice raw and strained. The thing lodged in his throat is thick and unyielding. Every second he’s finding it harder and harder to breathe. “Excuse me– I can’t– I’m sorry.”

He somehow manages to stumble past Gi-hun who starts to speak to him again. In-ho doesn’t hear it as he barely manages to reach the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him. His knees buckle and he collapses to the floor below.

A hand comes up to clamp over his mouth and he pitifully crawls over towards the toilet, suddenly afraid he might just puke. His body convulses in another fit of coughing that quickly turns into gagging. 

The thing lodged in his throat moves, and something comes up in his hand. But it isn’t just something. It’s multiple somethings. 

Pieces of something smooth and soft. Wet with his saliva. He pulls his hand from his lips and stares at his palm in horror.

Petals. White daisy petals. Some are tinged red with what he realizes must be blood. His blood. 

His hand shakes. He feels sick.

The realization creeps in slowly, then all at once.

Hanahaki . It has to be. The unexplained petals that have been littering his house for the past month– all daisy petals. This entire time, he’s been having symptoms. Warnings plain as day that he ignored. 

Gi-hun, In-ho realizes. 

He’s in love with Seong Gi-hun .

He knew it. Of course he knew it. Why else would he be here? He didn’t need this job. But the strange fascination he’s had with him since the moment he stumbled in mistakenly has kept him here. The way his gaze sometimes lingers too long on him. The way he craves his company, craves their conversations. In-ho wants to be around him, even if it means stepping out of what he knows– of breaking his self-destructive routines.

But now– it’s killing him.

Because nothing in his life is allowed to come easy. There’s always a price he has to pay, a hidden cost to live. 

In-ho presses a shaking hand to his chest, taking in a deep unsteady breath. His eyes stay locked on the bloodied petals in his hand. 

What the fuck.

Chapter Text

Chapter 7: Psychosomatic

In-ho’s hand won’t stop shaking.

The petals still sit soft and limp in his palm– delicate, harmless. Except for the terrible truth they represent, that they carry. 

His lungs are on fire, his throat still burning. His chest aches like something still needs to crawl out. 

No.

This can’t be real– surely this is just a mistake. Something like this can’t be happening, not today. Especially not today.

His breathing turns into short, rasping breaths as his heart hammers loudly in his ears, drowning out all the other noise in the room around him. He somehow staggers to his feet, moving away from the toilet to lean heavily on the sink with one hand, the other clutching the petals like proof of a nightmare. In-ho’s eyes flick to the mirror, catching his reflection. He looks pale, his hair sticking in clumps to his sweat slicked forehead while his eyes are wide and wild with panic and disbelief. 

He starts to pace, though the small confines of the bathroom barely allows for it. His thoughts move faster than his feet. There has to be another explanation– this has to be stress, or something else explainable. 

But how can he deny the flowers still in his grasp? The same as the ones he’s been waking up next to on his pillow consistently since he first found them clinging to his jacket all those weeks ago when he left the bar. 

He stops suddenly as his hands tighten into fists, crushing the delicate petals in his grasp. Has it been that long ? An entire month ?

“ Fuck –” the word breaks as it leaves his mouth. 

He tries to breathe, but the panic keeps crawling, wrapping itself tightly around his throat. Thoughts continue to race through his mind.

How long does hanahaki take to run its course? What happens if someone doesn’t confess? What happens if they DO confess?

In-ho’s mind wracks itself, trying to remember the things he knows about the disease. But no matter how much he thinks, he can’t seem to remember anything. Just the known fact that it’s fatal if left untreated, which does nothing but make his panic rise more. 

How could he let this happen? On today of all days– the anniversary of the only person he’s ever felt this way about before.

His lungs hitch again, guilt now tangling together with the panic in his chest, making him feel as though he might burst. The same sensation as before is back, something pushing upwards in his throat, blooming and burning , desperate to come out.

Then–

A soft knock. 

“In-ho?” 

Gi-hun’s voice, soft but laced with a genuine concern. 

“In-ho, are you alright?”

The sound of Gi-hun’s voice hits him like a sharp dagger to his chest. 

The warmth of it, the soothing tone cuts straight through his panic– but not in a good way. The ache in his chest overtakes him, the burning increasing tenfold. He coughs violently into his hand, his other catching him before he doubles over by gripping tightly to the sink. 

The blooming crawls up his throat, a suffocating heat that makes his eyes water. He retches, gagging as he tries to gasp for air. It’s raw, guttural. In-ho’s body convulses with each heave until finally something thick shifts in his throat. Scrapping and dragging up from somewhere deep, his mouth opens in a silent and panicked gasp as he expels whatever it is into his awaiting hand. 

He pulls back and examines it with horror.

A flower. A full, intact daisy. Its petals tremble along with his hand, the center a soft yellow glistening under the bright fluorescent lights with his saliva. The petal edges are crumpled slightly, some tinged with red like the petals before. But it’s real, and unmistakably whole. 

In-ho’s stomach twists, staring at it in disbelief before panic kicks in and he stumbles towards the toilet. He tosses it in and flushes it down with no hesitation. His hand still shakes like the ghost of it is still there, clinging to his clammy skin. 

Another knock, this time a little louder.

“In-ho, hey,” Gi-hun’s voice is cautious, but there’s an urgency behind it. “Can you open the door? You’re starting to worry me.” 

Panic spikes in his chest. No– he can’t see me like this .

He whirls around, eyes darting frantically around the bathroom. The crushed petals from earlier litter the floor, fallen and forgotten in his panicked pacing. Gathering them up quickly, he snatches up the toilet paper and wraps them. He dares not throw them in the trash, too scared they may be found, so he throws them in the toilet and flushes them down like he did the flower. 

In-ho turns back to the sink and quickly scrubs his hands clean. He splashes some cool water on his face, his breathing still too quick, but the cold water seems to clear his racing thoughts. After a moment, he braces his hands on the sink and blinks slowly at his reflection staring back at him, breathing in slowly through his nose then out through his mouth until, finally, his body begins to still. 

There's a shifting noise outside the bathroom, the handle jiggling but finding the door locked. Gi-hun.

“I’m fine,” In-ho calls out to him, his voice raw and scratchy. “Just give me a moment.”

More water on his face now. A deep breath. He straightens, though his body still feels like it might fall apart.

Gi-hun can’t know about this. No one can. 

Not yet. Not until he can figure out what he needs to do. 

In-ho grips the handle of the bathroom door tightly. He takes a moment to compose himself before he pushes it open.

Gi-hun is right outside, waiting a few feet away with a small paper cup of water in his hand. His brows are knit together, a worried expression marring his face. In-ho ducks his head down, avoiding eye contact. His breathing starts to become shallow, and he closes his eyes as he tries to regulate it again. 

“You okay?” Gi-hun asks in that same soft and warm tone of his. “You were in there awhile.”

In-ho nods but doesn’t dare spare him a glance, too scared it could trigger another outburst. 

Gi-hun lifts the cup towards him. “Here, You asked for water so–”

In-ho snatches it from him a little too fast. “Thanks,” he mutters before bringing the rim to his lips. He takes a small sip, the cool water easing the burn in his throat. He continues to look away from Gi-hun.

But Gi-hun continues to look at him, In-ho feeling his lingering gaze. He tries to not focus on it, but then Gi-hun steps forward closer to him. He hesitates for a moment, before he reaches a hand out towards him, maybe to feel his forehead, maybe just on instinct– but In-ho flinches away from him, taking a step back before he can make contact. 

“Don’t,” In-ho snaps, the words coming out sharper than he intended. “I’m fine.” 

He catches a hurt look that passes over Gi-hun’s features briefly before he lowers his hand slowly. “Right. Sorry, I just thought that–”

“It must have been something I ate.” In-ho says quickly, cutting him off. He doesn’t want to hear that concern in his voice anymore, doesn’t want to risk another wave of petals ripping their way out of his throat. “I should go.”

“Yes, I was just about to suggest the same thing. I could call you a cab, maybe walk you–” 

“No.” In-ho shakes his head, already walking away and reaching for his coat. “I don’t need that. I can walk fine.” 

Gi-hun makes a noise of disapproval, but In-ho doesn’t give him the chance to argue. He’s already halfway out the door as he catches one last attempt from the other man. 

“At least text me, so I know you made it okay.” 

In-ho doesn’t answer, doesn’t look back. He pushes his way through the door entirely and disappears in the fading light of the day. 

___________________________

In-ho slams his front door behind him with more force than necessary, the echo of it bouncing through his apartment like a gunshot. His coat is barely off his shoulders, hitting the floor in a heap before he’s stumbling to his bed, clutching his phone in his hand like a lifeline. 

His hands are frantic, trembling too much to type properly. He can’t get the image of the full daisy in his hand– soft and fragile– out of his mind. How could something so beautiful and innocent be such a dark omen?

Hanahaki. That’s right. His fingers fly over his keyboard, misspelling the word multiple times until finally he gets it right. When he hits enter, a wave of search results appear. Most are support forums; people suffering from the disease making a community out of it, trying to find comfort in what many believe are their last days. But that’s not what In-ho wants, no. He scrolls and scrolls until, finally, he finds what he’s looking for.

His eyes scan the screen, desperate to find something, anything, that might help him make sense of this. 

Hanahaki, a disease caused by unrequited love, is a rare condition that causes flowers   to grow in the lungs of the afflicted. Not much is known about the origin of this disease, and factors vary from person to person. Time frame of the progression greatly varies. Some can suffer for years before symptoms worsen, others deteriorate within months. In extremely rare instances, Hanahaki can run its course in the matter of weeks…

Weeks?

In-ho’s chest tightens. He scrolls down more. 

The only known cure is for the love to be returned. If the love is not returned, or the afflicted cannot bring themself to confess, other options are surgery. If it is caught early enough, the surgery can remove the flowers and feelings for the other person, along with sparing the afflicted’s life. If delayed, however, it can remove the ability to love romantically altogether. In some extreme cases, the flowers can become too deeply rooted to remove…

In-ho swallows hard, his throat sore– another physical reminder of what's lurking inside of him. 

Another line in the article catches his attention. 

In the more advanced stages, the flowers can become more and more dangerous. Typically what starts as harmless and non-toxic flowers can shift to blooms that are poisonous. While death is more common from suffocation, there have been documented cases of those dying from the toxic nature of the flowers themselves…

He closes the article, his phone dropping into his lap as he leans forward and presses his hands to his face. They drag down until they rest over his mouth. The words from the article swim around in his head, making it pound. One thing stands out more than the rest. 

Poisonous. 

A face appears in his mind. A woman with a solemn look on her face. The one asking for hemlock all those weeks ago. Hyun-ju, if he recalls. He hadn’t understood, even after he realized she had Hanahaki. If she had been coughing up hemlock, then that must have meant she was in her final stages. 

Desperate and dying. That bouquet was her last chance to save herself. 

In-ho lets out a breath like he’s been punched, his hand curling over his phone in his lap to unlock it once more. His fingers fly across the screen again, a new panic rising up his spine. 

Are white daisies poisonous? 

A stupid question that he knows the answer to. Of course they aren’t, he’s around them all the time. Putting them in bouquets for school teachers, hospital rooms, mothers– they were one of the most common flowers he used. 

But even knowing, he still needs to see . He needs to know that he’s not progressed that far, not yet. 

White daisies are non-toxic to humans. 

In-ho lets out a long sigh. He knew the answer, of course, but seeing it in front of him relieves him, if only slightly. He goes to lock his screen when suddenly he hesitates. A bitter thought worms its way to the front of his mind. 

He’s worked long enough with flowers now to know that they aren’t just simply blooms. There’s meaning, intention, behind every single type even down to the color. He’s still learning them all, of course. But working with Gi-hun, he’s started to learn their language.

In-ho scrolls further down on the page until he sees what he’s looking for.

In the language of flowers, white daisies typically symbolize innocence, hope, and new beginnings. 

He stares for a long moment. A sound escapes him, something between a laugh and a choking noise. 

Of course. 

Of course the disease would decide to be symbolic. Of course it would dare to choose something that meant hope, that he might actually be given the possibility to start again. That there still might be a chance for something to bloom despite the wreckage of his life. 

His thumb presses hard against his phone’s screen, like maybe if he crushes it, it might make the problem go away and erase all the information he just learned out of his phone, out of his mind. 

“New beginnings,” he mutters bitterly. “That’s fucking hilarious .” 

His phone is tossed out of his hand, hitting his bedside table with a loud thunk . In-ho runs both hands through his hair, mussing up the dark locks with his fingers as he grips tightly at his roots. Like maybe if he pulls hard enough, he can fix the problem by uprooting every flower that lies within himself.

But it’s still there, in his chest. Blooming, shifting. Alive , and rooted deep.

He falls back against his pillow, staring at the ceiling above like somehow, magically, an answer might appear there. His heartbeat pounds loud and fast in his ears, and he breathes in and out slowly trying to will it to slow down. 

This is stress , he thinks. That’s all it is. 

It’s been a long day– a long emotional day for him. This is just the anniversary throwing his immune system off, along with the familiar encounter Jung-bae had. The petals, the flower– stress induced. His feelings for his late wife are tangling with his grief and stress and giving him a false positive. It’s all… psychosomatic . A clear panic response. 

In-ho scrubs his face, hard, like he’s trying to rub the reality right out of his skin. “It’s not real,” he says out loud, just to hear it, just to make it something he can grab ahold of to keep himself grounded. “It’s just a one time thing.”

He’ll sleep, he decides. If he sleeps now, surely he’ll wake up from this nightmare. 

In-ho doesn’t even bother with his usual routine. Just shucks his shoes off and pulls the rest of his clothes off until he’s just in his underclothes before he throws them into a heap next to his bed. He roughly pulls his covers over him and shuts his eyes. 

Sleep, of course, eludes him. Comes in and out in fragments, broken and feverish. Every time he wakes up, it’s in a cold sweat with his chest aching miserably. He keeps telling himself to just go back to sleep each time, that he’ll be fine once he wakes in the morning. 

But when morning comes, that same ache is there. That same twisting feeling in his chest. Undeniable and real, no matter how hard he tries to convince himself it isn’t.

In-ho lies there completely still for what feels like hours. He barely blinks, just stares up at the ceiling. This feeling– it reminds him of how he was when he finally returned home after the games to find his wife already gone. That same feeling of despair creeps into his bones and anchors him to the bed. He wishes his mattress would open up and swallow him whole.

His phone buzzing finally catches his attention, pulling his eyes from the ceiling above. He moves sluggishly, grabbing the phone from where he threw it the night before on the bedside table. Squinting and blinking blearily at the bright screen, he sees a new message. One from Gi-hun. 

In-ho hesitates for a long moment before he finally unlocks the screen. 

Gi-hun  [7:30 AM]: Hey, just checking that you made it home okay. You never texted me so I got worried.

Gi-hun  [7:30 AM]: Also, go ahead and take the day off. You didn’t look great yesterday. Get some rest. 

Typical Gi-hun. Kind and warm. Thoughtful and concerned. 

Immediately after he reads those words, a sharp and burning sensation fills his chest. 

Then–

Coughing. Violent and deep coughs that drag him upright in bed. He can do nothing but ride them out, convulsing and gagging as yet again something comes up into his hand.

The same white petals. Torn and damp. But this time, there’s something else accompanying them.

New ones. 

Much smaller than the daisy petals. Ragged edges and a deep maroon color. Velvety and strange in his hand, he doesn’t recognize them, can’t pinpoint what flower they must have come from. But they’re definitely not a daisy. 

In-ho can’t deny it anymore. This is real. And it’s getting worse.

He sits on the bed for a long time, staring at his hand. The maroon petals cling to the white ones like dried blood.

In-ho’s chest feels tight. Not from his illness, though he’s sure that doesn’t help either. His thumb rubs against one of the darker petals in his palm, watching as it crushes and smears red against his skin. His mind drifts to her– his wife. Purple daisies on a kitchen table in a bright blue but chipped vase that she insisted wasn’t ugly or broken, just well loved. Sunlight catching in her hair as she leaned over a cup of steaming tea, laughing at something In-ho said that he hadn’t realized was so funny. A familiar ache settles back in his chest beside the new one.

Is this a betrayal? It feels too soon– but he isn’t sure what “too soon” is even supposed to be. There’s still a part of himself that feels so tethered to her, to her memory. If he moves forward– allows himself to feel this way for someone else– he feels like he’s abandoning her. He presses his knuckles against his eyes, tears pricking at the edges threatening to spill at any moment. He swallows the guilt that rises in his throat. She’s gone. He knows that. But this? This is something he never planned for, that he never meant to happen again. Something that he can’t even begin to understand. 

Why now? Why Gi-hun, of all people? 

Sweet, kind, strange Gi-hun, with his too big smile and clumsy hands, hair long and always unkempt with petals sticking to the strands. It isn’t even really a question. Of course it’s him. How could it not be? Even just thinking about him makes his chest burn.

But the more he thinks about Gi-hun, the worse everything seems to get. Gi-hun surely doesn’t feel the same. How could he? In-ho– at least this version of himself– isn’t exactly easy to love. He’s…difficult. Private and antisocial. He tends to push most people away, which is probably for the best. And Gi-hun– he’s the exact opposite of all that. Social, bright, and open-hearted– he pulls people in. Even people like In-ho.

And Gi-hun has a daughter. A family. A store to run, a life to live. The last thing someone like Gi-hun needs is someone like In-ho. It wouldn’t be right of him to try and wedge himself into something that doesn’t involve him, that doesn’t need him. Gi-hun is already balancing so much, it’s too selfish to even entertain the thought that he might want to add In-ho to that equation. What could he possibly give to Gi-hun other than more weight to carry, more trouble to untangle? It wouldn’t be fair to him, no, not when he’s seemingly found his footing again in life. Not when he deserves peace. 

In-ho sighs, running a hand over his face. He needs a plan. Something that will buy him time. Just so he can figure out what his next steps are. In-ho can’t be around Gi-hun like this– it’s way too risky. He has to get himself together before the next time he inevitably sees him.

He picks up his phone again. It’s been a bit since the message came in, but he types quickly:

In-ho [8:20 AM]: Sorry for the late response. I went to the doctor this morning. Seems to be some kind of stomach flu. I’ll be out today and next week. Hope that’s okay.

A lie. One that gives him time to think, at least. He hits send before he can second guess himself and throws the phone across the bed like it’s hot. 

In-ho lays back against his pillow and stares at the ceiling yet again. The reality weighs on him, pressing over him like being buried under fresh soil. 

He just needs a plan, time to think. Time to figure out how to look Gi-hun in the eye without seizing up and doubling over. Time to figure out if he wants to face the inevitable rejection, or take the easier way out. 

A week. 

Seven days to make peace with the fact that he’s already running out of time.

Chapter Text

Chapter 8: Unanswered

Gi-hun [10:24 AM]: Just wanted to check in. I know you’re out sick for the rest of the week but I haven’t heard from you. Feeling any better? 

Gi-hun [8:30 PM]: You’re probably resting, so no pressure to get back to me. Just when you can. Just want to know you’re okay!

___________________________

Gi-hun [12:23 PM]: The shop is so quiet without you today. Hopefully you’re starting to feel better? Let me know if you need anything. I don’t mind stopping by. 

___________________________

Gi-hun [1:39 PM]: Your brother came in looking for you today. I told him you were out sick. He seemed kind of worried when I told him I hadn’t heard from you in a bit. Hopefully that was okay to tell him.

Jun-ho [2:01 PM]: Hey, heard you were sick from your boss. Just checking in, because he said you hadn’t responded to him in awhile. He seemed kind of worried when he was talking about you. Guess you guys text a lot usually? What’s that about, huh? 

___________________________

(1 missed call) [Jun-ho 9:00 AM]

Gi-hun [1:00 PM]: Are you feeling any better? Just would really like to know how you’re doing and if I’ll see you next week. You’re kinda starting to worry me…

(1 missed call) [Gi-hun 7:45 PM]

___________________________

(2 missed calls) [Jun-ho 7:01 AM]

Sang-woo [8:05 AM]: Gi-hun said you weren’t feeling well. I hope you get better soon. The shop definitely runs better when you’re here. Much less stuff for me to have to clean up or worry about. 

Sang-woo [8:07 AM]:  He’ll deny this if you ask him, but he won’t stop fretting about you. I think he’d appreciate it if you could send him a text. Just to ease his worries a bit. 

___________________________

Gi-hun [2:31 PM]: Jung-bae came by again today. He asked about you. He seemed better than the last time we saw him. 

Unknown [3:03 PM]: Hey hey! Gi-hun told me you’re out sick? I didn’t know workaholics could even get sick. Maybe I’ll see a pig fly next. 

Unknown [3:05 PM]: Also, wanted to let you know I haven’t run into that weird guy in the subway station again. Just in case you were worried I’d try to find him. Anyway, let me know when you’re alive again.

(1 missed call) [Jun-ho 5:03 PM]

___________________________

(2 missed calls) [Jun-ho 7:40 AM]

Jun-ho [7:47 AM]: Can you call me back?

Jun-ho [7:48 AM]: Or text me? Something please?

Gi-hun [6:34 PM]: Will you be in tomorrow? No worries if you need more time off. Do you need anything? I could stop by if you needed me to…

(1 missed call) [Jun-ho 8:49 PM]

___________________________

Gi-hun [9:22 AM]: Running late? 

(2 missed calls) [Gi-hun 10:12 AM]

Gi-hun [11:31 AM]: This isn’t like you, In-ho. I don’t care if you need to take off more, I just want to know you’re okay. 

Jun-ho [11:45 AM]: You aren’t at work? 

(4 missed calls) [Jun-ho 12:01 PM]

(1 missed call) [Gi-hun 7:34 PM]

Sang-woo [8:35 PM]: Gi-hun is really worried, In-ho. 

___________________________

Jun-ho [8:00 AM]: You’re not at work again? 

(2 missed calls) [Jun-ho 8:05 AM] 

Jun-ho [8:08 AM]: Why are you doing this again? I don’t understand. People are worried about you. You can’t just disappear like this. 

Jun-ho [8:10 AM]: Whatever’s going on, you know you can talk to me. I thought you knew that, after the last time we spoke. Now you’re shutting everyone out again? 

(5 missed calls) [Jun-ho 11:50 AM]

Jun-ho [11:52 AM]: Fuck, man. I’m not doing this again with you. 

Gi-hun [2:10 PM]: Anything In-ho. I’ll take any response from you. 

Gi-hun [6:01 PM]: Please. 

Gi-hun [6:02 PM]: I just want to know you’re okay. 

(2 missed calls) [Gi-hun 6:34 PM)

___________________________

Jun-ho [8:09 AM]: I know you’re in there.

Jun-ho [8:10 AM]: Open the damn door.

Chapter Text

Chapter 9: Answered

Jun-ho [8:09 AM]: I know you’re in there.

Jun-ho [8:10 AM]: Open the damn door.

In-ho holds his phone in his hand staring at the bright screen that illuminates the dark of his room. It’s easy to ignore, just like all the other texts and phone calls. Something that can be easily tossed aside and tucked away under piles of laundry to muffle the buzzing. Out of his sight, out of his mind. 

The banging at the front door, however, is relentless. Loud and obnoxious– incessant. But In-ho is stubborn. He ignores it, just like everything else. Tunes it out, staring at the ceiling willing for his brother to just go away. To finally just give up on a lost cause like him.

But Jun-ho is not so easily swayed by In-ho’s stubbornness. After all, In-ho practically raised him. Of course he’d somehow come out more stubborn and determined than he is. His brother had learned from the best, after all.

The pounding never ceases, never wanes. His brother’s stubbornness is the kind that doesn’t go away when it’s ignored, no. It's the kind of stubbornness that only gets louder and more irritating the more you want it to go away. 

“In-ho!” Another round of knocking, the door’s frame rattling from the force of it. “I know you’re in there, damn it!” 

A sharp, frustrated sigh escapes In-ho. At this rate, everyone in the apartment complex would be woken up, and the cops would surely be called next. While that would get rid of his problem, he wouldn’t want to get his brother in trouble. Not when In-ho knows personally how hard Jun-ho’s worked to get where he is.

In-ho drags himself out of his bed, his joints stiff and sore from days of disuse. The room swims a little around him as he stands. His old undershirt clings to his skin uncomfortably from old sweat, and he absentmindedly scratches at his collarbone, stepping over dirty laundry and old takeout containers that litter his floor from when he remembered to eat.

The hallway light practically blinds him as he finally cracks open his front door. 

Jun-ho’s expression immediately shifts when he sees him– anger first, immediate and obvious, but it quickly melts into something else. Shock maybe. Concern. 

“Oh, In-ho,” Jun-ho says, his voice much lower now, quiet in a way that makes In-ho flinch more than the yelling did. 

“Stop banging on the door,” In-ho mutters. “You’re going to get me kicked out.” 

Jun-ho pushes the door open more, though not forcefully. In-ho lets him, stepping back so he stands in full view in the doorway. Jun-ho seems to really take in the state of him now, his brows furrowing in concern. In-ho knows how he looks– bags under his eyes, the way he’s just in his underclothes, his hair messy and unkempt, his face unshaven– but watching Jun-ho’s reaction is almost too much. Too real. He fights the urge to slam the door in his brother’s face so he doesn’t have to bear seeing it anymore.

Jun-ho doesn’t say anything right away. He just exhales, long and slow, like the fight has gone right out of him.

“You look like shit,” he finally manages.

“Feel like it, too,” In-ho says, sighing before he steps aside to let him in.

Jun-ho steps inside and seems to immediately regret it. His expression wrinkles, eyes scanning around the small room. “Ugh. It smells like you’ve been living off take out and regret in here.”

In-ho doesn’t respond. He just walks past him, navigating the mess with ease, to sit back on his bed. 

Jun-ho frowns at him before taking in the room again. In-ho imagines seeing his home in such a state is a shock to his brother. He has always been tidy, ever since he was a kid. Precise and controlled. But on rare occasions, he could let things spiral. He could get too wrapped up in a case, staying up late to go over the details over and over again, papers littering the table and floor around him. His wife would scold him gently and coax him into bed– her warm hands on his shoulders, her voice quiet and insistent. The memory of her stings in his chest.

He tries to shake it off, shifting uncomfortably. But the mess around him tugs another memory loose; his dorm room from college days. In-ho’s desk cluttered with textbooks as he crammed for final exams. Laundry littering the floor, dirty dishes and empty paper coffee cups strewn about. Stupidly, the coffee cups remind him of Gi-hun. The way the man always never seems to finish one, always leaving them half full around the store. The chaotic mess of him that's somehow endearing. The sting in In-ho’s chest grows and tightens. He quickly diverts his thoughts before it can become a problem.

Jun-ho’s eyes are back on him now, wide and worried. In-ho can’t remember a time where Jun-ho might have seen him like this. He was always too careful, too determined to make sure to set a good example for him. The steady and dependable older brother. This version of In-ho is the exact opposite of that once perfectly crafted image. 

“What the hell is going on?” Jun-ho says. His tone is full of disbelief rather than anger. 

In-ho doesn’t answer. Instead, he stares at his hands that sit limply in his lap. His body feels like lead, like it’s sinking into the mattress below him. 

Jun-ho sighs, the frustration from earlier seeming to creep back into his expression. “Your landlady– she keeps calling you ‘Young-il’. What is that all about?” 

In-ho’s eye twitches. So nobody could find me , he thinks. Not that it even worked. 

“She doesn’t listen,” he lies. “Probably the old tenant before me.” 

Jun-ho narrows his eyes at him before he takes a few steps forward like he might join In-ho on the bed, but his foot lands on something that makes a loud crunching sound. He instantly recoils, looking down at the offending item. An old take out container now half smashed under his heel. Jun-ho lifts his foot away with a sound of disgust. 

“Okay, no,” Jun-ho mutters. “Hold on. I can’t talk to you or focus with your place looking like this.” 

He quickly bustles about the room, grabbing the nearby trash can and scooping up whatever he can carry before he shoves it inside. He lifts up a bowl that seemed to have something souplike in it at one point. His face curls in disgust. “When was the last time you had a real meal?” 

In-ho doesn’t answer. He just stares at his brother, eyes following him as he moves around and cleans but not really watching him. The sounds all blur together after a bit– the plastic crinkling, the trash bags rustling, his bathroom faucet turning on and off. He continues to sink into his mattress, his limbs feeling far away. 

He’s zoned out like that for a while, anchored only by the sounds of Jun-ho moving about and the grumblings under his breath. But even despite his brother’s clear frustration with him, he never leaves. 

A part of In-ho wants to tell him to stop. To just leave it and let him deal with it– it is his own mess after all. But another part is grateful. His brother is still here, despite his best efforts to keep him away. And not only is he here, but he’s making an effort to stay, to make sure that In-ho isn’t living in a mess. It’s almost reminiscent of when they were younger. How In-ho was the one picking up after a much younger and clumsier Jun-ho.

Jun-ho finally seems to finish, stopping in the middle of the room. His hands are on his hips, surveying his work around him. It’s a big difference. The floor is clean, the trash is gone and all bagged up. His dirty laundry is properly piled up in a corner– he supposes Jun-ho is leaving that one for him to do. 

Jun-ho moves over towards him and takes a seat on the bed beside him, the mattress dipping under his weight. He sighs quietly, but doesn’t speak.

After a long moment of silence, Jun-ho leans forward, elbows on his knees. “What is going on with you?” 

In-ho’s eyes stay fixed to the floor. He doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t answer. 

“In-ho,” Jun-ho turns his head towards him, worry lacing his words. “Please. Say something.”

In-ho breathes slowly, tightly. He shifts under Jun-ho’s stare and then lets out a long sigh. “It’s nothing,” he says, his voice quiet and rough. “Just… the anniversary. And seeing you again. It stirred a lot of things up, that’s all. Then this happened.” 

Not entirely a lie. But Jun-ho is smarter than that. 

“That’s not it. There’s something else going on, I can feel it.” 

In-ho’s fingers curl gently around the hem of his shirt, pulling at a loose thread there. He keeps his expression the same, but Jun-ho still catches his shift in his posture that he tries to hide. 

“Gi-hun said you were sick,” Jun-ho pushes. 

In-ho doesn’t mean to, but hearing Gi-hun’s name makes him stutter in his movements for just a moment, his hands stilling for just a brief second. Of course, that’s all it takes for his brother to notice, all the opening he needs. 

“Sick with what?” he asks, his tone sharper now. “You’ve been avoiding everyone, missing work, not answering your phone– this isn’t just the flu, hyung. What’s actually going on?” 

In-ho’s jaw tightens, his posture stiffening. He exhales through his nose, the breath shaky. There’s no use in lying. Jun-ho will figure it out sooner or later. 

“Hanahaki.”

Jun-ho doesn’t move for a moment. Then, he shifts suddenly to face In-ho fully, a look of confusion on his face. “What?”

“It’s Hanahaki,” In-ho says, louder this time. He doesn’t look at him as he says it a second time. He’s not sure he even can. This is the first time he’s said it out loud. It makes it more real, like it gives the sickness a shape and weight that somehow makes it sit heavier in his lungs making him feel breathless.

Jun-ho doesn’t respond right away, like he’s trying to process what In-ho has just said to him. He sits quietly, and In-ho can feel his eyes on him, studying him. 

“Hanahaki,” Jun-ho repeats after a moment, the word coming out stilted. “Like… you’re in love with someone, then.” 

It isn’t a question, and In-ho doesn’t answer anyway. He just continues to sit there, staring at nothing while the word hangs in the air between them, heavy and unwelcome. 

Jun-ho shifts beside him, clearly trying to make sense of what he’s just heard. “I just… I don’t understand,” he says finally.

Me either. Welcome to the club , In-ho thinks bitterly. He bites his tongue so he doesn’t speak the thought aloud. 

“I never thought you’d, y’know, try to… see someone like that again. You never said anything.”

“I’m not trying to see anyone,” he says quietly. 

Jun-ho goes silent again. In-ho doesn’t have to look at him, he can feel it– the gears turning in his brother’s head, the structured mental sorting he does when he’s trying to figure something out. He is a detective after all. And worse than that, he knows In-ho.

“So it’s someone you’ve met recently.” He says it carefully. “So, like someone from work.” 

In-ho doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. The silence between them this time is stretched and heavy. He wants to lie. Make up a name, make up an entire person. But Jun-ho would see right through it. 

“You always said you hated texting,” Jun-ho starts, like he’s thinking out loud. “You always said if you had something important to say to just say it in person. Or if it was urgent enough to just call.”

In-ho can feel the moment Jun-ho starts putting everything together. Fitting things like puzzle pieces in his mind. 

“But that guy at the shop– Gi-hun, right? He said you guys text all the time. And when we talked… I don’t know. He seemed like he knew you. Like more than a coworker should. I thought maybe I was imagining something, but…” Jun-ho trails off. 

In-ho feels his brother’s gaze on him. He closes his eyes and tries to school his expression, his posture. But he can’t stop the small twitch of his jaw. Jun-ho seems to immediately catch it.

“No way,” Jun-ho breathes. “It’s him , isn’t it?”

In-ho draws in a short breath, but he doesn’t dare speak 

Jun-ho lets out a baffled sound. “ Why him?”

That gets a reaction from In-ho, his head snapping towards Jun-ho, a sharp glare flashing across his face before he can suppress it. Jun-ho immediately throws his hands up, backing off. 

“I didn’t mean anything by it! I just– really ? That guy?” he says, half-laughing, half-stunned. “He’s just. I don’t know. Not your…usual type I guess?” 

In-ho looks away from him. His face burns from the embarrassment from being found out so quickly.

“I didn’t choose to feel this way,” In-ho mutters, his voice like gravel. “It just… happened.” 

He can’t bring himself to look at Jun-ho. Heat crawls up the back of his neck making him feel like he’s sixteen again, caught doing something foolish. Caught wanting something he can’t have. 

The bed dips again as Jun-ho leans back on it. He rubs his face, a puff of air escaping his lips. “So, now what? Why don’t you just… confess to him? That’s how this usually goes, right?” 

In-ho doesn’t move, his body tensing up. 

Jun-ho doesn’t seem to notice. “I’ve seen it in movies. Some guy hacking up petals, then a dramatic declaration, then poof – done, Hanahaki cured.” 

“It’s not that simple– life doesn’t work the same way it does in movies, Jun-ho,” In-ho says, irritated at his brother’s naivety. 

“Well, why not?” Jun-ho says, glancing at him sideways. 

In-ho just exhales, slow and shallow. He doesn’t want to say it, doesn’t want to hear it out loud. 

Jun-ho hums like he suddenly understands. “Oh. You don’t think he feels the same.” When In-ho says nothing, doesn’t deny it, Jun-ho continues, making a face at him. “Are you so sure about that?” 

“ Yes , I’m sure,” In-ho says, frustration seeping into his words. He doesn’t elaborate further, doesn’t dare say how foolish he feels, how pathetic . It’s so obvious to him. He’s like some stray mutt that’s been beaten and kicked too many times. So when someone finally looked at him with softness, he mistook it for something else. Gi-hun’s hand had outstretched towards him, offering him kindness, friendship– and like a dog starved for it, he’d latched on to it. It didn’t matter that it probably meant nothing, that Gi-hun was this kind and soft to everyone he met. In-ho couldn’t tell the difference, and was too lonely to stop himself. 

When he looks back to Jun-ho, there’s a skeptical look on his face. To his credit, though, he doesn’t press anymore. Instead, after a moment, he speaks again. “Then why not just get the surgery? That’s an option, right?” 

In-ho feels himself go cold. He’s already thought about this part, already made the decision the moment the coughing had gotten so much worse alone in his room with old petals wilting in the sink. When the pressure in his chest became unbearable.

“I did,” he says.

Jun-ho looks shocked. “You did?”

“I went,” In-ho quickly clarifies. “To a doctor. I told them I wanted the procedure.” 

There’s a beat, then Jun-ho says slowly, “And?” 

“They asked me some questions, ran some tests.” In-ho’s throat feels dry. He swallows hard. “They found more than one flower type.” 

Jun-ho frowns, looking confused. “So?” 

“ So ,” In-ho continues, “that makes things… complicated. I didn’t catch it early enough. If they do the surgery, it's more than likely that I’ll lose the ability to feel romantic love altogether.”

“Ah,” Jun-ho says. “Is that… really a problem then?” 

In-ho’s gaze snaps to Jun-ho, his eyes sharp. 

Jun-ho lifts a hand, defensive. “Sorry, that’s probably insensitive, I shouldn’t say that. But, it’s just… well, I know you. I can’t see you trying to see anyone after her, and I know you haven’t been trying either.”  

“I’m not worried about seeing other people,” In-ho says, his voice sharp. 

“Then what are you worried about?” 

“I don’t want to lose her. What I had with her ,” In-ho snaps. His voice comes out strained and way more forceful than he intends it to. His heart pounds loudly in his ears as the words keep coming out. “I don’t want to forget how it felt to love her, to want her. To be with her. I can’t stand the idea of thinking back and not being able to remember who I was and what I felt in those moments with her. That time together– those years were the best of my entire life . If I lose that– if I can’t understand those feelings anymore– then what the hell would even be left of me?”

His voice was raised louder than he intended, the words ringing loudly in the room. He suddenly feels exposed and raw– like he’s reopened a wound that wasn’t stitched up properly in the first place. 

Jun-ho seems taken aback for a second, though after a moment his expression softens. Something like understanding in his features.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t even think about that,” he says quietly. 

In-ho deflates. All the tension leaves his body. He feels exhausted, and his chest aches. His shoulders slump as his eyes drop down to look at the floor in front of him. The silence between the two of them stretches on between them, thick and heavy. In-ho brings his hands up to his face and presses his palms hard against his eyes. 

“I just… I have no idea what to do,” he says quietly, his voice breaking. Admitting it makes him feel exposed, makes his chest hurt even more. “I know the longer I wait, the worse this gets. But it feels like every option I have isn’t the right thing to do.”

Jun-ho is silent for a long moment. In-ho doesn’t have to look at him to know that his brother is thinking, trying to figure out what he wants to say that won’t upset In-ho further.

When he does finally speak, his voice is soft but firm. “I’ve never been in a position like this before, and I know better than to tell you what to do,” he says, shifting slightly on the bed to face In-ho better. “But… I wouldn’t completely rule out telling Gi-hun.” 

In-ho pulls his hands from his eyes, his hands falling into his lap. He looks at Jun-ho from the corner of his eye. 

“I know you’ve known him longer than me. Maybe I’m seeing something that isn’t there,” Jun-ho continues, “but he seemed to care about you a lot. A lot more than I would find myself caring for a coworker of, what, two, three months? Sure, being worried is normal when someone doesn’t show up. But when he talked about you, he spoke about you like you really mattered to him. Hell, he tried to come with me today to see you.”

The words sit heavy in In-ho’s chest as he lets out a long sigh. 

He tried to come with me today to see you .

That painful sting in his chest returns. But there’s also something else alongside it– something fragile and flickering. But even so, doubt still curls tightly in his stomach. 

“He’s just… kind. He treats everyone like that,” In-ho mumbles, eyes still fixed on his hands. “He gives too much of himself to people, doesn’t know when to stop.” He sounds more bitter than he means it to be, so he softens the next part. “It doesn’t mean anything.” 

“Maybe you’re right,” Jun-ho says, sighing. “But– and I’m not saying it’s a sure thing– maybe you’re just too close to see it properly.” 

In-ho stays quiet. Can’t bring himself to reply with the growing ache in his chest. Can’t bring himself to argue with his brother, to insist to him that he doesn’t know Gi-hun the way he does. 

Because there’s another part of him, much quieter, that wonders if maybe Jun-ho is right. That his brother, because he doesn’t know Gi-hun the same way, can see something he can’t.

Of course, he doesn’t believe it. But the feeling…lingers. 

Jun-ho stands slowly, a gentle hand clasping In-ho’s shoulder softly. “Alright,” he says, his tone shifting to something more casual. “You need real food. I’m going out and getting you some groceries. Just basic stuff– y’know, stuff that doesn’t come in a styrofoam box.” 

“You don’t have to do that,” In-ho argues, but he knows it’s in vain. 

“I know, but I’m going to do it anyway.” Jun-ho gives him a small smile. “It’ll help me sleep better tonight.” 

“At least let me come with you–” In-ho starts to stand but the hand on his shoulder keeps him in place. 

Jun-ho gives him a look. “Okay, be honest– when was the last time you showered?” 

In-ho’s mouth presses into a thin line and he says nothing. 

“Yeah. Thought so.” He pats his shoulder a few times before he turns towards the door. “You should go ahead and do that. I’ll be back in a bit, okay?” 

In-ho doesn’t say anything, just watches as the door clicks shut behind him. 

The stillness that follows after his brother leaves is heavy, though not nearly as crushing as it was once before. He doesn’t move for a long while, letting the quiet wash over him as thoughts race in his mind. Then, as if on autopilot, he finally gets up and heads to his bathroom.

The hot water stings at first, but it cuts through the grime of sweat and stillness caked onto his skin. His head bows, and his hands brace against the tile wall, steam curling around him as his thoughts spiral along with it. Everything Jun-ho said repeats over and over in his mind– confessing, Gi-hun, the surgery. That same lingering thought that maybe Jun-ho is right, that he really does see something he doesn’t. That it is his job to see things people don’t usually see as a detective. 

But it still feels so impossible. Like In-ho is nothing but a fool clinging desperately to the first bit of kindness he’s received after so long. Like he’s trying to insert himself into a picture where he doesn’t quite fit. Not this version of himself, anyway. 

By the time he finally steps out of the shower, his skin is flushed from the heat, and his thoughts are no clearer than before. 

He sighs as he dries himself off before he makes his way to the pile of dirty laundry in the corner of his room. He rifles through it for a bit until he finds a pair of sweatpants and an old t-shirt that’s salvageable and won’t undo the shower he just took. He’s just tugging the shirt over his head as he hears the front door click open again.

Jun-ho steps inside clutching a few paper bags to his chest. He gives In-ho a once over as he closes the door with his foot. “You look… better. Less like a zombie, more like a person now.” 

In-ho just grunts in response before he points at the bags in Jun-ho’s hands. “What did you get?”

“Just basic stuff,” Jun-ho replies, setting the bags on the nearby desk as he begins to take the items out. “Fruit, bread, rice, eggs– Things that won’t go bad immediately if you forget about them for a few days. Oh, and some tea from a lady down on the corner market. She claimed it could ‘reinvigorate your spirit’ or something like that. Figured it probably couldn’t hurt.”

In-ho hums. “You know I prefer coffee.” 

“Yeah, well, suck it up. Try it anyway,” Jun-ho huffs, though there’s no real bite behind it. Once he unloads all the items onto the table he leans against the desk, folding his arms. He stares at In-ho for a long moment, his expression softening.

“Look,” he says, levelling a gaze at In-ho, “I know I’ve been pushy. And now that I know what’s going on, I get it. It isn’t something that can be solved easily. But this thing– it’s serious. And you can’t just ignore it. I’m not saying you have to come up with a decision now– but doing nothing? Shutting everyone out?” He pauses, searching In-ho’s expression. “That's the only thing you can’t do.” 

In-ho’s gaze lowers. Guilt creeps into his chest, settling next to the ache there. 

“I’ll stand by you, and whatever you decide to do, no matter what. But what I won’t do is sit back and watch as you do nothing and let this thing take you away from me. I can’t lose you, hyung. I don’t know what the hell I’d do if you were gone.” Jun-ho shifts, sighing. “And.. I know that she’d want you to be happy. She’d want you to take care of yourself, in whatever way that might be.” 

In-ho can’t seem to find his words. So he nods– just barely– but it seems to be enough for Jun-ho to understand.

“I’ll check in again tomorrow,” he says, grabbing his keys from the desk. “And I better not be ignored this time.” 

“I won’t,” In-ho murmurs.

Jun-ho stands in the doorway for a moment but nods at him, seeming satisfied. The door shuts behind him.

The silence returns yet again, but this time it doesn’t feel quite the same. It feels bearable. Like he isn’t alone anymore.

He moves back to his bed, but right as he sits down, his phone buzzes nearby. He picks it up, expecting a text from Jun-ho. In-ho freezes as he sees the screen light up.

A message from Gi-hun. 

Gi-hun [10:13 AM]: Did your brother stop by? He told me he was doing that this morning…

In-ho stares at the screen. Everything Jun-ho said to him circles in his head. He can’t avoid this forever. Can’t avoid Gi-hun forever. 

His thumb hovers hesitantly over the keyboard before he finally forces himself to type something out slowly. 

In-ho [10:16 AM]: Yes. He did. 

It doesn’t feel like enough after everything. So he adds:

In-ho [10:17 AM]: I’m sorry. For missing work. And for not replying.

The response comes almost instantly after he hits send. 

Gi-hun [10:17 AM]: Don’t even worry about it! I’m just glad to even see a text from you. And that you’re alright. 

Gi-hun [10:17 AM]: Are you busy? Like in the next few days. I wanted to come by with your brother, but he didn’t think it was a good idea. I’d like to see you, make sure you’re okay. You really scared me, I won’t lie. 

In-ho hesitates again, his chest tightening painfully. 

Is this a good idea? But it’s like Jun-ho said to him. He doesn’t have the option of doing nothing anymore. 

He takes a deep breath before he types another response.

In-ho [10:20 AM]: Where do you want to meet?

Chapter Text

Chapter 10: Meeting

They decide on a coffee shop. One that’s not too far from In-ho’s apartment and not too far from the shop either. 

True to his word, Jun-ho stops in the next day, the day before he and Gi-hun have planned to meet. He shows up in the morning again, knocking on the door less obnoxiously this time, and In-ho is much quicker to answer. He asks him a few questions, makes sure he’s been eating real food, and nods in approval at the now clean state of his home. And when In-ho quietly asks him if he’ll drive him to the doctor’s office, he doesn’t hesitate. Just nods, and then they’re out the door. 

The visit there is brief. The lady at the front desk recognizes him, and when he tells her he’s changed his mind about a prescription, she calls the doctor and confirms it for him. The hanahaki suppressant prescription is still on file and quickly handed over to him. A thick, nasty smelling cough syrup that dulls symptoms, makes things more bearable. Not a cure, but the next best thing. 

He had refused it the first time, thinking it would be pointless. Now, with Sunday looming, with GI-hun wanting to see him again, things were different. 

The next day, he takes the proper dose in the morning, pinching his nose as he swallows the vile stuff down. He dresses, gets himself ready, before he grabs his coat and walks out the door towards the coffee shop.

When he steps inside, he spots Gi-hun immediately. He’s tucked over in a corner at the back by one of the tall windows. Sunlight filters through his hair, painting one half of his face in its amber rays, while one hand is curled around a steaming mug and the other scrolls through his phone absentmindedly. 

Something is different about him. It takes a moment, but then it hits him– this is the first time In-ho has seen Gi-hun outside of the shop like this. No work apron, no rolled up sleeves. Instead, he has on a soft looking sweater and a pair of dark jeans. It’s nothing flashy, but it’s nice. Comfortable. It makes something twist hard deep inside In-ho’s stomach. 

The urge to cough bubbles in his throat, but he’s able to push it down for now, pressing his lips together tightly to help stop himself. He breathes slowly, taking a second to thank himself for taking the extra precautions by getting and taking the medicine before coming here to meet. 

As if sensing his momentary distress, Gi-hun suddenly looks up. When he sees In-ho, his entire face visibly lifts and he motions for him to come over, his relief practically palpable even from across the room. 

In-ho takes a second, before he walks over to him in slow, steady strides.

“In-ho,” Gi-hun says his name in that familiar warm tone of his that tugs hard at In-ho’s chest. “It’s good to see you. I was a little worried for a second you might change your mind.” 

In-ho slides into the booth directly in front of Gi-hun, resting his hands in his lap as he settles. “I wouldn’t want to make you worry again.” 

Gi-hun smiles at him. He stares at In-ho for a long moment, almost like he’s assessing him. There’s something in his eyes, quiet and soft. “You look better. Healthier,” he says, his voice lowered. 

In-ho doesn’t really know what to say to that. He’s not sure he feels healthier. The medicine is doing its job, at least, to numb the sharper things. No petals or blood today– at least not now, not in front of Gi-hun. 

“Yes, well, I went to the doctor again yesterday,” he says after a pause, “Got something to help.” 

Gi-hun’s expression shifts slightly– concern. But instead of pushing for details, he just nods. “That’s good to hear.” 

A beat of quiet. Then, Gi-hun’s eyes flick down towards the mug in his hand before he seems to come to the conclusion that In-ho probably won’t take the initiative himself. His hand comes up to flag down the nearby server and they approach the two of them with a pen and paper at the ready. 

“Just a coffee– black, is fine,” In-ho says. Gi-hun doesn’t seem satisfied with that. 

“You should eat, too,” Gi-hun says gently. 

“I’m not very hungry–” 

“But you should eat,” Gi-hun says again, still gentle but more firmly than before. He’s looking at In-ho with a soft look in his eyes and In-ho finds he doesn’t have it in him to fight back. 

“...Toast then, too,” he mutters. The server smiles at him before they take their leave. 

Gi-hun nods at him, seeming okay with that answer before he brings his own steaming cup to his lips and takes a slow sip. A silence settles over them for a moment, neither of them saying anything.

Then, Gi-hun begins to speak. Calm and casual. Little things about the shop. How busy it’s been, how a shipment of peonies came in wilted and ruined, and how Gi-hun almost started a war over the phone over it until it was fixed. How a few customers came in asking about In-ho and wondered when he was coming back. 

The last part surprises In-ho– it isn’t like they have many regulars. The fact that his absence was noticed though, not just by the people he worked with, but by complete strangers…

In-ho doesn’t say anything back to Gi-hun, though. He just sits and listens, finding himself feeling grounded at the sound of his voice. Gi-hun only stops talking when In-ho’s order arrives, and he sips his coffee slowly. He takes small, almost mechanical bites of his toast. It doesn’t really taste like anything, but it’s something .

Gi-hun watches him as he eats, a quiet observation. He takes his own coffee and brings it to his lips and mirrors In-ho’s small sips. The silence between them is comfortable. Familiar . Like they hadn’t spent weeks apart. 

In-ho hadn’t realized how much he missed this. 

After a while, Gi-hun sets his mug down softly and his expression grows a little more serious. “I don’t mean to pry,” he starts, “but… your brother and I talked a lot in the shop. When we didn’t know where you were.” 

In-ho doesn’t say anything to that. He gently puts down his food before his gaze meets Gi-hun’s own. 

“He… told me that this isn’t the first time you’ve done something like this,” Gi-hun continues, his eyes searching In-ho’s face. “That you’ve shut everyone out before.” 

In-ho continues to say nothing. He swallows hard.

“I was really worried,” Gi-hun says, his eyes still searching his face. “When you didn’t show up. That’s just not like you. I kept thinking maybe I missed something– that maybe I didn’t see you needed help. I don’t know.” 

Gi-hun’s hand rubs the back of his neck– a nervous habit of his In-ho’s noticed over time. “You don’t have to explain anything. But… like I’ve said before, we’re friends. And I’ll be there for you, if you ever needed me to be. In whatever way you’ll let me.”

It isn’t the first time Gi-hun has called him a friend, but the carefulness of his words, his gentle tone– it still hits him hard, stirring something heavy in his chest. The same heavy pressure of flowers, desperate to bloom through the open cracks of his ribs.

He doesn’t know how Gi-hun does this to him. Says things so sincerely, so kindly with no idea what it does to him. How it hurts equally as much as it comforts. In-ho wishes he could tell him that. Wishes he could tell him how it feels to be around him, to hear him, to simply know him. It’s so foolish to want like that. 

But, fuck , he still wants .

His chest aches for it, to have Gi-hun look at him and know . To know how much he means to him. To know that he wishes so badly to be more than a friend to him, as selfish as that is. It’s exhausting to sit across from him like this, burying it all so deeply inside himself like it doesn’t want to tear through him every time Gi-hun so much as looks at him.  

He wants to tell him. He means to tell him.

But when he opens his mouth, no confession comes out. 

“...Two years ago,” In-ho says instead, his voice quiet, “my wife died.” 

Gi-hun’s posture straightens and his expression shifts, but he doesn’t say anything.

“She was really sick. Then we found out she was pregnant, with our first.” His voice is steadier than he expects it to be, but it still feels like he walks a thin line. That if he isn’t careful, he could break at any moment. “She was so stubborn. Said she’d have her, even if it killed her. I’ve never been able to change her mind, not once, especially when she’s set on something.”

In-ho looks down at his hands curled around the steaming coffee mug. 

“The procedures, everything. It was too much. That’s why those people– the ones who found Jung-bae– targeted me. I was so desperate to save her,” his voice cracks, but he persists anyway. “But when I came back, she was already gone.” 

Silence yet again settles over them. Not uncomfortable, not unwelcome. A needed silence, a silence that makes space for something so heavy. 

“That day I was with Jun-ho. The day I got sick,” he continues after a moment, almost forcing the words out, “...that was the second anniversary.” He shakes his head slightly. “I was so overwhelmed with everything, I just– I couldn’t .”

It isn’t the whole truth, of course. But, it isn’t a lie either. As much as he wants to say more, right now it’s all he can give.

In-ho finally glances back up from his mug. Gi-hun doesn’t speak right away. He simply stares at In-ho with a soft look, like he’s taking a moment to absorb every word he’s said. When he does speak, his voice is quiet and considerate. 

“I’m really sorry In-ho. That’s… I can’t even begin to imagine that kind of loss.” 

There’s no forcedness behind his words. No pitying look, no wide-eyed look of faux sympathy. Just a quiet understanding. Like Gi-hun knows better than to try and say something to fix it, or tell In-ho he’s going to be okay. He instead seems to choose to sit with it. With him. 

The quiet lingers between them, neither of them jumping to fill it. But it’s fine. It’s comfortable. In-ho doesn’t have anything else to say, and Gi-hun is fine with letting it be. 

Then, casually, Gi-hun shifts his coffee mug on the table. 

“You drink your coffee black then, huh?” 

In-ho glances up, a bit confused by the question. “Is that… a bad thing?”

“No. It just means I lost a bet to Jung-bae. I thought maybe you secretly might have had a sweet tooth.”

In-ho’s lips twitch into a faint smile, and the weight from the earlier conversation seems to lift from him. A small breath escapes from his nose, not quite a laugh but close. 

Gi-hun smiles at that. He nudges his plate forward. “You should eat the rest of your food. It won’t taste as good if you just let it sit there.” 

“It’s only toast,” In-ho says, but he picks it up anyway. Takes a large bite. Watches as Gi-hun gives him a seemingly satisfied look. He finishes the rest in a few more bites.

Then, the bill comes, and In-ho reaches for it.

“I can get it,” Gi-hun says immediately.

In-ho shakes his head. “I’ve got it. Really.” 

Gi-hun gives him a look. He starts to open his mouth like he means to argue, but In-ho holds up a hand, stopping him.

“I want to,” he says. “After everything. Making you and everyone else worry. Let me do this.” 

Gi-hun squints at him, but then nods. “Fine. But I’m getting it next time.” 

They finish their coffee, pay, and then walk together outside, stopping by the curb for a moment, Gi-hun patting his coat pockets. 

“Hang on a sec– Mind if I smoke?” 

In-ho just nods, watching Gi-hun as he pulls out a pack of cigarettes and a worn lighter. The same lighter In-ho gave him at the bar over a month ago. That makes something warm shift in his chest, and he laughs quietly to himself. “You still have that?” 

Gi-hun grins at him. “Haven’t lost it yet. You want one? Or did me keeping the lighter finally help you break the habit?”

In-ho thinks about the cigarette butts crushed in a makeshift ashtray by the side of his bed. The pile of them only growing bigger over the last few weeks. He might not have had a lighter, but he found other ways, like pressing the cigarette tips to the heated elements inside his toaster, or against the stove. 

“Not having a lighter has made it harder,” he says. “But I’m good.” 

Gi-hun shrugs. “Suit yourself.” He pulls out a bent looking cigarette, fixing it before he flicks the lighter to life and lights it. 

He takes a small drag, before glancing at In-ho sideways. “I… don’t really know how to ask this. But I have to ask, and there’s really no pressure when I do say it, okay?” 

In-ho looks at him, tilting his head curiously. 

Gi-hun takes another, much longer drag of his cigarette, sighing as he blows the smoke out. “Are you… still wanting to come back? To the shop I mean. Because I’d understand if not. If you needed more time, y’know.”

Ah . In-ho had wondered if Gi-hun would ask him that. He’s already thought about it. It’s all he’s thought about, since he texted Gi-hun back a few days ago. 

It wouldn’t be smart. He knows this. He’s still sick, even with the medicine. Still reeling, still unsure how to navigate any of this. 

“Like I said, no pressure,” Gi-hun adds after a moment, interrupting In-ho’s thoughts. “Either way, we’re still friends, and you can’t get rid of me that easily.” 

That brings another small smile to In-ho’s lips. He looks away from Gi-hun, looking straight ahead. Even if he decided he wouldn’t go back, he couldn’t avoid the man forever. Not if he wants to try and move forward. To try and… maybe confess. Even if it hurts, even if it ends badly. At least, there, he’d still have a place to go back to. A place that people want him around.

And he’d be lying to himself if he said he didn’t miss it. The work, the people. Everything about it. 

“I’ll come back,” In-ho says finally, his voice steady. 

Gi-hun perks up next to him. “Yeah?” 

In-ho nods, looking at him. “Yeah.”

Gi-hun gives him a soft, genuine smile. The one that he seems to only reserve for him. The one that makes his heart feel like it skips a beat, while the air from his lungs catches in his throat. 

“Good. I missed you.” 

___________________________

Gi-hun insists on walking In-ho back to his apartment, and he doesn’t have it in him to argue. It isn’t a far walk, and they don’t speak much. But it’s nice. 

They say goodbye when they reach the entrance. Gi-hun gives him a flashy smile and tells him he’ll see him the upcoming Wednesday. In-ho smiles back and nods, watching as Gi-hun waves one last time before heading in the direction of where he lives. 

As he walks through the entrance, he nearly bumps shoulders with someone as they walk past him. A man he doesn’t recognize– sharply dressed in a dark suit that stands out in a place like this. The stranger barely spares a glance at him, but In-ho still catches a glimpse of a smile. For some reason, it makes him stop, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up as he turns and watches them exit the building and make their way down the street. Thankfully, they at least seem to turn in the opposite direction Gi-hun went. 

In-ho’s gut twists. Something feels off. Wrong. 

He climbs the stairs upwards, each step feeling heavier than the last as unease continues to settle in his stomach. 

When he reaches his door, he doesn’t even grab his keys. His hand reaches for the handle and it clicks open. Unlocked. 

A chill runs down his spine and a breath catches in his throat. 

He goes rigid, and suddenly years of police training come flooding back. He keeps his hand on the handle, staying as still as possible as he listens . For movement, for a noise, for any indication that someone is still in there. 

But he hears nothing. Not a single sound. Still, he pushes the door open slowly, his body bracing for anything.

But there’s nothing. No one behind the door, no one in the room. Everything is just as he left it. 

Until he sees it. 

On his bedside table, sitting there so neatly and placed so purposefully. A simple blue vase. Full of flowers. 

White daisies, with bright burgundy scabiosas blooming between them like bright red bleeding wounds. The same flowers he’s been coughing up for days. 

His stomach drops. His heart beats loudly in his ears. 

He crosses the room in slow, heavy steps. As he approaches the vase, he sees it. Tucked neatly between the blooms. A familiar tan card, the same shapes. Circle, triangle, square .

Stomach churning, hands trembling, he reaches it for it. Turns it over in his hand. 

Neatly printed, almost polite, it reads: 

We can help you.

Then a series of numbers. A phone number. 

Untraceable, he already knows. He’s already tried. 

A cold sweat breaks out across his skin. The card curls in his hand, crushing under his grip. And without thinking, without breathing, he grabs the vase and hurls it to the ground. Blue glass shatters across the floor in a violent spray and loud crash. The flowers scatter, red petals soaking in the water and bleeding their color into it. Painting the white of the daisies red. 

In-ho steps backwards, nearly slipping as he turns and stumbles towards the bathroom. 

No. No, no no.

How did they find him? How did they know about the flowers?

He was so careful, he was so sure. 

In-ho’s breathing begins to quicken. Fast, uneven. His entire body trembles. 

He suddenly starts to rip at his clothes. His jacket, his shirt, his pants, everything. Tearing them off like they’re contaminated, because there has to be something . A wire, a bug. A tracker . 

He presses his hands to his arms, running his fingers roughly against his skin. Looking for a bump, a scar, something off. There’s nothing. He runs his hands against his chest, then his shoulders, his face, his neck– then he finds it.

Small. Just a slightly raised bump in the thin skin right behind his left ear. Something so easily missed, if he hadn’t been looking for it. 

It rips a memory from his mind. The flashing lights of the dormitory, how they barely fed them that night. Gave them glass bottles and metal forks that quickly morphed into weapons.  

Chaos. A bloodbath. Someone attacks him from behind as he tries to usher the few people he can under the beds so they might stand a chance. It’s so easy to fight back, so easy to be underestimated under the baggy tracksuits. They picked a fight with the wrong person, and he kills him in seconds.

Then it’s over. 

The guards storm in, silent and faceless, pushing the survivors into a line. His hands above his head, covered in blood, he catches the piles of bodies on the floor. Watches as the guards press something up against their ear before over the loud speaker he hears their numbers listed off as new eliminations. 

He didn’t put it together right then, no. Too caught up in adrenaline and fear, the metallic scent of blood filling his racing thoughts, staining him. 

But now it made sense. It had been there, the whole time. Marking him like some horse in a race. Like cattle awaiting the slaughter.

Not as In-ho.

As Player 132 . 

Even here, outside the games. 

His hands shake, reaching for the razor on the sink. 

He doesn’t think. He grips it tightly in one hand, as the other pulls his ear back. He presses it into the soft flesh and cuts . The pain is sharp and immediate, but he doesn’t even flinch. Just continues to drag the blade through the flesh over and over until blood drips down his hand, down his face, down his chin. Dripping freely into the white porcelain basin of the sink. 

Then, finally– finally – like a prize between his blood slicked fingers, he grips it. Wiggling it until it comes free. 

A small, black metal capsule. No larger than the tip of one of his fingers. Cold. 

He stares at it, his chest heaving. Thoughts race in his head. Disbelief, revulsion. Fear. Relief . 

It’s out. It’s gone from his body. Their mark, their claim over him.

The panic overtaking his body starts to fade. Not fully gone, but enough that he can think. Enough to let himself breathe. 

In-ho drops the tracker into the sink. Turns the water on, watches it fall into the drain. Far, far away from him, swallowed and gone. 

He cups his hands under the cool water, washing the red away. Brings the clean water to his face and rubs it over his eyes, his mouth. He takes a towel and soaks it before bringing it to the still dripping wound behind his ear. 

It stings. He presses harder.  

He won’t let them have this. He won’t let them take anything else away from him.

Not anymore. Not now, when he’s just decided he has something to go back to. When he has people who care about him, people worth being around. 

Not when he just started hoping– just a little– that there might be a chance for him. For him and Gi-hun. 

He dries his face, his breathing finally starting to even out. He steps out of the bathroom, making his way over to his dresser. He pulls some new clothes out, putting them on slowly. 

There’s shattered glass still all over the floor. The flowers scattered around like fallen feathers. Red tinted water that looks too close to blood. 

Slowly and carefully, In-ho leans down and starts to gather the pieces.

He’s almost done when he sees it. 

The card. Crumpled and damp. Dropped in his panic. 

Still legible. 

We can help you .

He wants to throw it away. Rip it to shreds. Burn it. 

He doesn’t. 

Instead, he grabs it. Holds it between his fingers gently. Opens his bed side table and places it there before slamming the drawer shut. 

Maybe as a reminder. A warning. A motivator. He doesn’t know.

He just does. 

Chapter Text

Chapter 11: The Third Flower

The next few weeks are… interesting. 

Keeping the Hanahaki hidden from Gi-hun has become its own kind of ritual. The medicine helps. Most days, it does its job well enough, helping In-ho keep it together long enough to get through a shift. He keeps extra cough drops in his pockets, too, just to be safe. And on the outside, he’s functioning. Talking, working. Bantering, even. It’s so much easier than he thought to slide right back into the easy rhythm he and Gi-hun had spent months cultivating all this time. 

But In-ho still tries to stay careful. He’s walking a thin line, and he knows it. Banter can shift too easily into dangerous territory. A glance that's held too long, a brush of a touch that lingers, a laugh that lands just a little too hard in his chest. He keeps having to excuse himself. Pretending to have something in his eye, conveniently forgetting something in the back room, taking a few extra bathroom breaks– he’s quickly starting to run out of excuses.

Thankfully, the worst that’s happened has been him coughing up a few stray petals. And working in a flower shop makes it easy to hide them. Who would question a few extra daisy petals here and there?

The nights, however, are a different story. When he gets home and the medicine wears off with his defenses down, he often finds himself collapsed on the floor the moment the door shuts behind him, or hunched over his bathroom sink. He gasps and gags on full scabiosa blooms and white daisies tinted red. There’s been new petals, too. Thin and purple. He hasn’t dared look them up yet, too afraid of what he might find, though he has a hunch on what they might be.

In-ho tries to not dwell on the nights, though. And working in the shop again is a great distraction. There’s always something to do, something to keep his hands busy so he has less time to think. 

Today is no different than usual. Gi-hun trims some lavender stems nearby at the work table, humming something barely recognizable, while In-ho busies himself at the front counter with writing handwritten tags that need to be attached to some arrangements in the back. The door chimes once or twice with some customers that come in to pick up their orders. Calm and steady. 

The door chimes again when In-ho has his back turned. He turns instinctively– but he senses the change in atmosphere before he even sees who it is. 

Sang-woo. He steps into the shop with that same effortless calm he always seems to carry, dressed neatly despite the brisk chill outside. 

“What are you doing here?” Gi-hun asks immediately, his tone unexpectedly clipped and sharp. That catches In-ho off guard. His gaze flickers to Gi-hun who stands stiffly, almost glaring at Sang-woo. 

Sang-woo raises a brow, but is seemingly undeterred. “You asked me awhile back to come in today.”

Gi-hun frowns. “I don’t remember asking that.”

“There’s a shipment coming today,” Sang-woo replies evenly. He dusts a few flakes of snow off from his sleeves before he sighs. “Did you already forget?”

“Oh,” Gi-hun mutters after a pause. “Right. I guess I did.”

The air is tense between the two of them– taut enough that it makes In-ho straighten where he stands as he observes them both. This is… unusual. Gi-hun and Sang-woo are always bickering, sure, but this isn’t their usual back and forth. Something in Gi-hun’s tone and his posture, and Sang-woo’s carefully crafted indifference makes it clear that this is real. That they aren’t exactly happy to see one another.

Did something happen between them? In-ho’s eyes shift between the two of them but before he can dwell on it any further, the front door swings open again with a loud chime. 

“Hey!” Ali’s cheerful voice cuts through the tension in the store with ease. “I just saw the truck pull up while I was on break. Need some help unloading?” He steps inside, a little breathless and his cheeks red from the cold. 

Gi-hun seems to soften immediately, his posture relaxing. “Yeah, actually. That’d be great. Just need to clear out some space in the back first so we have a place to put everything.” 

“In-ho and I can take care of that then,” Sang-woo says smoothly. “You and Ali can handle the boxes and get them inside. It’ll be quicker that way.”

Gi-hun hesitates for a second. He looks like he wants to argue for a moment, his lips parting slightly, but then he just sighs. He waves Ali towards the door. “Come on then, let’s get it done.” 

Ali smiles at In-ho and Sang-woo, giving them both a friendly nod before he follows Gi-hun outside.

In-ho watches them go, then glances at Sang-woo who’s already heading towards the back room rolling up his sleeves as he walks through the door.

In-ho hesitates for a moment, then quickly follows behind him.

Sang-woo gestures to one side of the room. “You start over there with the shelves, and I’ll handle the empty boxes on this side.”

In-ho nods and starts towards the shelves. The hum of the outside is muffled behind the walls in here, and for the moment, it’s just the two of them and the scent of soil and flowers in the cold air. 

Sang-woo moves to a corner, kneeling down to start working on breaking down some of the cardboard boxes still stacked there. 

“You’ve been working here for how long now?” Sang-woo asks, his tone casual like he’s just trying to make conversation. “Around four months now, right?” 

In-ho’s pauses, taken a bit off guard by the comment. “...Has it really been that long?”

Sang-woo doesn’t look up. “Mm. Just about, I think.”

In-ho considers that fact for a moment as he crouches down to grab one of the crates on the shelf. Sang-woo is right– it has been that long. How some simple mistake of walking into a closed flower shop one rainy night led him here, four months later, he doesn’t know. 

“I guess it really has been that long,” he says quietly. 

Sang-woo folds another box flat. “Do you enjoy it then? The work I mean. All of it?”

In-ho pauses, thinking for a moment. “I do,” he says softly. “Though I enjoy the flowers more than the customers most days. Not that they’re bad, but I like having something to do. Something to focus on.”

Sang-woo hums at that. There’s a beat of silence that almost feels measured.

Then Sang-woo speaks again.

“I imagine it can be difficult dealing with customers,” Sang-woo continues, his hands occupied by continuing to flatten the boxes in front of him. “I don’t deal with them the same way you and Gi-hun do. But I hear stories all the time.”

In-ho just hums in response, focusing his attention on moving some ceramic vases and pots to a lower shelf to make more room.

“And you’ve been here long enough that I’m sure you’ve encountered all sorts of things,” Sang-woo says, and In-ho looks up at the other man, meeting his sharp gaze. There’s a look in his eyes he can’t quite place. He feels as though he’s under a microscope, being studied– no, scrutinized– by him.

In-ho shifts, but holds his ground. He doesn’t know what Sang-woo is trying to get at, trying to get out of him, but he won’t let him find it. “Its not that interesting or difficult,” In-ho says, his voice monotone. “People need flowers for all sorts of things, but it’s just like any other job.”

Sang-woo holds his gaze for another moment before he looks away. His hands busy themselves again with the boxes in front of him. “That’s probably true,” he says after a beat. “But, flowers have so many different uses, so many different meanings. Mostly good. Mostly wanted. Until they aren’t.” 

In-ho scoffs. “I think most people like receiving flowers.”

“Sure. Unless you’re allergic. Or someone just can’t take no for an answer and keeps getting you an unwanted gift. Or if you find yourself hating the very sight of them for some reason.” Sang-woo looks up at In-ho again. “Like people with Hanahaki.”

In-ho nearly drops the vase he’s holding, but recovers quickly. He takes a small breath and sets the pot down.

“I had Hanahaki,” Sang-woo says cooly, his sharp gaze still fixed on In-ho. “A few years back. I hated even the thought of flowers during that time. Seeing people exchange them like they weren’t the very thing burdening my entire existence.” 

In-ho says nothing. He keeps his hands still, trying not to react.

“I waited too long,” Sang-woo continues. “By the time I sought help, it was too late. It was either death or surgery.”

Surgery . The word leaves a bad taste in In-ho’s mouth. He’s tired of hearing it. Tired of the weight it carries.

“I chose the logical option,” Sang-woo says simply. “I chose to live.”

He doesn’t elaborate more than that. In-ho doesn’t ask him to. He already understands. 

But there is a small shift in his voice. Not regret, no. Sang-woo is clearly too proud of a man to allow himself the weakness of having regrets. But there’s a hollowness there. A piece missing. The echo of something he can’t name anymore.

“I’m not saying this for sympathy,” Sang-woo says. “I say it because I’ve seen what it does to people. What happens when we hold things in. Whether we’re too stubborn to admit it out loud, or thinking we’re doing the right thing by saying nothing.” 

In-ho feels like he’s underwater, every sound muffled and distorted. He can barely comprehend what Sang-woo is saying to him.

Does he know ?

He can’t know. There’s no way. Sang-woo isn’t even around him enough to see. 

Only his brother knows. And Jun-ho wouldn’t have told someone who is a stranger to him. 

Right ?

In-ho clenches his jaw but manages to look at Sang-woo. He schools his demeanor the best he can, though he still feels tense. Panic prickles just underneath his skin, in the heavy weight suddenly pressing against his chest. 

Sang-woo’s eyes search In-ho’s face. Careful and calculated. In-ho keeps his expression as neutral as possible. 

Sang-woo finally looks away again, moving another stack of boxes aside. For a moment, it feels like the conversation might finally be over. But then–

“Gi-hun,” he says his name like it slipped out without him meaning it to. Like he’s still trying to figure out what he wants to say.

In-ho’s head snaps towards him, and before he can stop himself, he interrupts Sang-woo before he can continue. 

“What does Gi-hun have to do with any of this?” 

It comes out sharper and more defensive than he means it to. 

Sang-woo doesn’t even look at him. “Nothing. Maybe everything. All I’m saying is that… if someone you cared about was suffering in silence, wouldn’t you want to know?”

The question hangs in the air between them. 

In-ho doesn’t answer. Doesn’t think he could, even if he wanted to. 

But that question rings clear in his mind. 

Would Gi-hun want to know ?

If their roles were reversed, if it was Gi-hun quietly hiding his feelings from him– would In-ho want him to keep it to himself?

No. No, of course not. Even the idea of Gi-hun being in pain because of him makes his chest twist. He can’t fathom even thinking about it. He’d want to know, want to help. Especially if he felt the same way, which he knows he would even without the Hanahaki to confirm it. 

But he doesn’t understand what Sang-woo is getting at. How he even knows in the first place.

Did someone tell you? Was it Jun-ho? What are you even trying to do? So many questions, and the urge to ask them is strong.

But before he can find the nerve to ask any of them, an unfamiliar voice cuts through the silence from outside the room.

“Hello? Is anyone back there?”

A woman’s voice. Polite, but a bit uncertain. Both In-ho and Sang-woo exchange a look before In-ho quickly seizes the opportunity to excuse himself. 

“Probably a customer. I’ve got it,” he says quickly before turning towards the door. 

Sang-woo nods at him and doesn’t stop him. 

In-ho pushes the door open slowly, adjusting his sleeves and taking a deep breath to help calm the nerves still buzzing underneath his skin from the conversation. He smooths his expression into something lighter– neutral and polite. A mask he wears for the customers. Not quite a smile on his face, but enough to pass as one so he doesn’t come off cold and rude.

But then he stops in his tracks. 

At the counter stands a woman In-ho hasn’t seen in months. And at first he doesn’t believe it’s her. She looks… different. Brighter. There’s color in her cheeks, and warmth in her face. She looks healthy. Happy.

Hyun-ju, he remembers. That’s her name. 

And next to her stands another woman, their hands intertwined together. Younger and quiet. There's a shy look about her, but she’s staring at Hyun-ju like she’s the only person in the room. Like she’s the only person that matters. 

And then In-ho realizes. 

This is her . 

The person that Hyun-ju had come in for, asking for a last minute bouquet. The person she had nearly died for. But she’s here. She’s alive . She’s happy– they’re both happy. 

Something warm flickers in In-ho’s chest. Joy – unguarded and genuine. Joy for these complete strangers that In-ho had already written off as doomed in his mind. It rises through his chest, until it reaches his face and brings a smile to his lips. Not a forced one, not one for politeness or performance. A real one. 

Hyun-ju is softly speaking to the girl next to her, that she hasn’t even noticed In-ho yet. He doesn’t say anything– doesn’t want to interrupt them. But as the door shuts behind him, Hyun-ju’s eyes flick up to meet his own. 

She seems to recognize him immediately as her expression lights up, and she smiles softly at him. “Hello again.” 

In-ho is surprised by the warmth in her voice. “Hello,” he says softly. “It’s…good to see you again.” 

Her smile grows a little bit bigger, and she throws a quick glance to the woman at her side. Her expression softens further as she gives her hand a small squeeze. She looks back to In-ho, her expression a little sheepish now. “I’m here to pick up an order,” she says. “Two potted flowers. Should be under Hyun-ju.”

Ah . Right. In-ho remembers now. In the front window of the shop getting some sun, there were a few potted plants with some tags he didn’t bother reading. But he had paused for a moment to look at them when he came in. He remembered the flowers– purple asters and white anemones. The same ones she had requested in her bouquet all those months back.

He gestures to the front of the shop, and the two women follow behind him as he approaches the pots. They’re placed on one of the displays in the window, and he takes a moment to examine them for a second. The ceramic pots are polished and covered in simple, yet elegant floral designs. There’s a bow tied neatly around both of them– clearly tied by Gi-hun. It looks like he even tucked a card in both of them that’s written in his slanted, messy handwriting. 

In-ho picks one up carefully, handing it to Hyun-ju before he grabs the other and returns to the front with them both. 

He rings them up in silence. Hyun-ju steps forward with her card in hand, but before she can offer it to In-ho, the younger woman beside her puts her hand on her arm. 

“I’ve got it,” she says softly.

“Young-mi–” Hyun-ju starts but the woman next to her– Young-mi– gives her a soft look. 

“You bought me the bouquet. The least I can do is return the favor, Hyun-ju,” Young-mi says. 

In-ho takes her card, and she gives him a small smile that he returns.

He gives them a discount– slashes the price much more than he probably should. He’ll cover the difference later. He’s sure Gi-hun won’t mind either way. 

“Have a spot picked out for them?” In-ho asks as he hands her back the card and receipt. 

Hyun-ju nods, glancing at Young-mi with a fond smile. “We just moved into a new apartment,” she says. “There’s a balcony we’ve decided to turn into our little garden. We want to fill it with flowers, and figured these would be a good start.”

In-ho’s smile softens. “That sounds nice. Peaceful.”

“Yes,” she says, voice gentle. “Peaceful.” 

Young-mi steps forward and carefully grabs one of the potted plants. She doesn’t say anything, but her eyes meet his briefly and there’s something grateful in her gaze. Content. Hyun-ju reaches for the other pot beside her, and they both start to turn towards the door.

But then, Hyun-ju hesitates for a moment at the counter. 

“...Thank you,” she says softly, genuinely. “Really. And that other man that works here, I never caught his name. But tell him I said thank you to him as well. He was very kind to me, and I never forgot that.” 

In-ho nods. “I will.”

They both turn and leave together, the door swinging gently shut behind them.

And for a long moment, In-ho just stands there.

There’s a small ache in his chest, but not the same sharp and dangerous one he’s become familiar with. This one is lighter, almost warm. Like a flicker of something in his chest that wants more. 

He doesn’t get to dwell on it long, because the bell of the door jingles just a few minutes later. Gi-hun and Ali appear with more boxes in hand, both of them looking exhausted. Gi-hun approaches the counter, dropping the heavy boxes nearby as he lets out a groan. He leans heavily against the counter as he wipes sweat from his brow. 

“That’s enough heavy lifting for the week– I’m declaring a mandatory break,” Gi-hun says, his face flushed red with exertion. In-ho’s eyes linger on a bead of sweat dripping down Gi-hun’s flushed neck and he swallows hard, before quickly averting his gaze before it becomes a problem. 

Ali comes up behind him, his arms still full of boxes that he sets down on top of Gi-hun’s. His face is a little flushed too, but he smiles like it’s nothing. “Oh come on, it wasn’t that bad. You’re just out of shape is all.” 

Gi-hun scoffs and hits Ali gently on his shoulder. “How dare you! Not all of us can still be in our thirties, you know.” 

“No, Ali is right,” Sang-woo says, stepping out of the back room behind In-ho. “You are just out of shape.” 

Gi-hun narrows his eyes at him, muttering something under his breath but he doesn’t say anything back. The tense air from earlier returns between the two of them, and In-ho quickly clears his throat to draw attention away from it. 

“We had some customers. They picked up those potted asters and anemones,” In-ho says, gazing at Gi-hun who perks up at the mention of the flowers.

“Oh yeah! I potted and tied those both up last night. They seem to like them?”

“Yes,” In-ho says, turning slightly to face Gi-hun better as he watches him. “They both did. You made them a bouquet with those flowers before.” 

Gi-hun quirks a brow at In-ho. “Yeah? They tell you that?” 

In-ho shakes his head. “No. I just remembered it. I remembered her name, too. Hyun-ju. She came in once, asking for hemlock. I think it was my first week here.” 

Gi-hun furrows his brow in thought before realization dawns over his face. “ Oh – I do remember that. Did she… look okay?”

“Yes, actually. She was here with someone. A younger woman. She was quiet but… it was obvious they were together.” 

Gi-hun’s face shifts, a soft look crossing his features– something halfway between surprise and relief. “Seriously?” he says, his voice quieting. “That’s… that’s good to hear actually. A lot of stories like that don’t usually work out.” 

In-ho nods in agreement. “She also told me to thank you. For the bouquet.” 

Gi-hun lets out a quiet breath that almost sounds like a laugh. “She did?” His gaze lowers to his hands, and he almost looks a bit bashful. “That’s nice of her.”

There’s a pause before Gi-hun continues, his voice thoughtful and soft. “I always wonder, you know. When I make bouquets like that– for people with Hanahaki. I don’t usually see them again. I’m always just hoping that it helps them out somehow but…” He trails off with a small shrug. “Most of the time, I’m just left not knowing.”

The room quiets at that.

Then In-ho catches a slight shift nearby Gi-hun. He glances over in time to see Ali shift awkwardly on his feet, like the words Gi-hun says makes him uncomfortable. The man’s gaze flickers to Gi-hun, then up to Sang-woo behind him and lingers for a beat too long before he quickly looks away like he’s trying not to be seen. 

But In-ho does see. Sang-woo is still staring at Ali even though he’s looking away. His expression is unreadable at first, but there’s something unmistakable in the tightness of his jaw, in the way his gaze doesn’t waver. Guilt.

Ali’s look is quieter by contrast. Softer. Almost longing. Whatever passes between in that brief moment says everything. 

Pieces click together in In-ho’s mind, but before he can fully process any of it, Ali steps away from the counter, clearing his throat. “I should head back. They probably need me back in the bakery by now.” 

Gi-hun tilts his head up and blinks, distracted from his thoughts. “Oh– yeah of course. Tell Ji-yeong I said hello.” 

Ali nods, offering a small smile that doesn’t seem to quite reach his eyes. “Will do.”

They all say goodbye, but In-ho keeps his gaze fixed to Sang-woo as he watches Ali leave. Suddenly, the words Sang-woo said earlier echo in his mind. 

If someone you cared about was suffering in silence, wouldn’t you want to know?

Ali , In-ho realizes. Sang-woo had been in love with Ali. And he never told him until it was already done. Already too late. 

Sang-woo is still staring at the door, jaw tight. He doesn’t say anything. 

Instead, he turns briskly towards the stack of boxes by the counter. “We should get these put away. The back room is pretty much cleared.” 

He moves without waiting for a response, lifting up a box and heading towards the back again. 

In-ho hums in response, but then doesn’t move. Doesn’t register how Gi-hun shuffles around him with another box in hand. He finds himself standing there, looking down at his hands, at the empty counter. And he thinks:

If he did the logical thing, like Sang-woo said he did, if he got the surgery, would he end up just like him?

Alive. Technically. He could function. He could walk and talk. Still come into work, still have everyone in his life.

But would he look at Gi-hun the same way Sang-woo looks at Ali? Jaw tight, with guilt sitting heavy in his chest. Would Gi-hun look at him the same as Ali? Softly and sad, longing painting his features. 

And how would he remember his wife? He can barely even stand the thought of it, feels sick even considering how it might feel.

But then– Hyun-ju.  

He thinks of the way she smiled at him today, the way Young-mi looked at her. The way they seemed to fit together so naturally, so easily.

She must have been hopeless, too. To let the disease progress so far. She must have thought she was too far gone. And yet…She still took a risk. She still confessed.

And it worked. 

Is that still possible? Is there really still time? Is Jun-ho right about Gi-hun?

In-ho lets out a long breath. Is Sang-woo trying to warn him to not make the same mistake?

“In-ho?”

Gi-hun’s voice pulls him out of his thoughts. He looks up, startled. Gi-hun stands by the back room’s door looking at him with his brows drawn slightly in concern.

“You feeling okay?” he asks. “Not feeling sick again, are you?”

In-ho blinks before shaking his head slightly. “No, I’m okay. Sorry, I must have zoned out for a moment.” 

Gi-hun doesn’t look convinced but doesn’t question him further. Instead, he nods towards the last remaining boxes by the counter. “Can you help me with those then? I think that’s the last of them.”

In-ho moves without protest, following Gi-hun as they carry the final load into the back room. As they set the boxes down, Sang-woo fixes his gaze directly on In-ho.

“In-ho, are you coming to the New Year’s party?” Sang-woo asks casually as he brushes some stray dirt off his hands. 

In-ho straightens a bit. “What party?”

Sang-woo frowns and looks past him at Gi-hun. “You didn’t invite him?” 

Gi-hun’s face twists into a look of mild irritation. “I was going to,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “Today. Just slipped my mind with everything else going on.”

Sang-woo’s expression stays the same, but In-ho catches the corner of his mouth twitching. “Well, then consider yourself invited, In-ho.” Sang-woo says, looking back at him. 

“Sae-byeok hosts one every New Year’s. At the bakery,” Gi-hun cuts in, glaring at Sang-woo as he does. “It’s nothing fancy. Food, drinks, music. But you can see the firework’s show pretty well from the street when you stand outside.”

New Year’s .

He hadn’t even realized that the year was already coming to an end, and in just a few days too. Time had blurred together, the days bleeding into one another. He hadn’t made plans. Hadn’t even thought to, though he’s sure he wouldn’t have made any anyway. But now…

Maybe it wouldn’t be the worst way to start a new year. And maybe, if he was going to confess, this might be the time to do it. Casual, crowded. And it would be so easy to slip out unnoticed during the fireworks if it all went sideways. If Gi-hun didn’t feel the same. If it ruined everything.

“There’s no pressure or anything,” Gi-hun says, looking away from In-ho. “If you have other plans, I’d– we’d understand.”

“I don’t have any plans.” In-ho replies softly. Gi-hun looks back at him and his lips quirk into a small smile.

“Then you’ll go?” he asks, an expectant look on his face.

“I’ll be there,” In-ho says simply. 

___________________________

The cold air stings his cheeks as he walks home, but he barely notices the chill. The city blurs around him, all lights and noise, as his mind focuses on a single thing. A plan that loops over and over again in his head. 

Pull Gi-hun aside. Keep it simple, get it over with before the fireworks start.  

He thinks of what he might say, how he might say it. He’s rehearsing the words under his breath when the familiar tightness in his chest begins to bloom.

In-ho falters in his steps. His apartment building looms right in front of him but he already knows he isn’t going to make it in time. He picks up his pace anyway, hoping to at least make it through the door.

He stumbles slightly as he reaches it, his fingers just brushing against the handle before he stops, his breathing jagged and uneven.

One hand catches himself against the wall as he doubles over, the other slapping to his mouth. He coughs once, harsh and dry. Then again, deeper in his chest. Wet.

Something tears loose from his throat, and he gags and spits into his hand. 

When he pulls his hand away, he expects to see petals. But instead, he sees a full bloom.

A purple hyacinth. The petals match the ones he’s been coughing up for days now. 

The medicine has worn off earlier than usual, it seems. His time is thinning. 

He stares at the bloom for a long moment, his breaths coming in short and shallow bursts. 

Toxic, yes. But not deadly. 

Not yet, at least.

He still has time.

Chapter Text

Chapter 12: New Year’s

The shop is closed on New Year’s Eve, yet In-ho still finds himself waking up early out of habit. The quiet of the morning settles over him like a weight, and he finds himself moving on autopilot. Showering, making coffee. Pacing his place over and over with the mug held tightly within his grasp.

The party isn’t until ten.

He checks his phone. It’s only nine-thirty in the morning. 

In-ho tries and fails to distract himself. He picks up a book only to reread the same page five times before he puts it down. Pulls up a TV show on his computer only to zone out halfway through the first episode. Nothing is working.

Eventually, he makes it to midday, and he finds himself in front of his closet. He knows it’s just a party with friends, that he doesn’t have to worry about being dressed nice. But he still finds himself changing his outfit three separate times until he settles on a nice black button up and matching dark pants.

Every minute, he glances at the clock again. The closer it creeps to ten, the more nervous he feels. 

He knows the plan– goes over it at least a hundred times. The fireworks usually start about five minutes before midnight. He’ll pull Gi-hun aside then and ask him for a cigarette. Keep his drinking to a minimum so can get the words right. Say what he needs to say.

It sounds so simple in his head, but as time stretches on he can’t help but feel it feels impossible. 

Still, when the time comes, he grabs his coat and is out the door.

___________________________

In-ho arrives at the bakery just a little past ten. The door opens with a soft chime, and he’s hit with warm air and sweet smells. The whole place has been rearranged– most of the tables have been pushed out of the way to make space for everyone, while some still remain out laden with trays of finger foods, baked goods, and paper plates. Small fairy lights line the edges of the tables, giving the entire place a soft and cozy vibe.

Sae-byeok is near the door as In-ho walks in, and she gives him a small wave with a lopsided smile. “Glad to see you made it, In-ho.”

Sang-woo immediately turns beside her at the mention of In-ho’s name. He gives In-ho a small smile, but his gaze flickers to the door behind him. He raises a brow. “Gi-hun didn’t come with you?”

“No, I assumed he was already here,” In-ho says, looking around the room. Ali is sitting nearby with a young woman he vaguely recognizes– Ji-yeong, if he remembers correctly. Sae-byeok’s girlfriend. Across from them sits a young man with long hair he doesn’t recognize. But that’s it. No Gi-hun.

He turns back to look at Sang-woo just in time to catch a look that flashes across his face– brief, but sharp and irritated. But it’s gone as quick as it comes, immediately masked underneath Sang-woo’s usual composure.

“I’m sure he’s on his way,” Sae-byeok says quickly, waving a hand in the air. “You know how he gets sometimes. Always losing track of time.” 

Sang-woo says nothing. In-ho feels his stomach suddenly twist with anxiety, but he ignores it.

She steps aside and gestures to the tables. “Food’s all out. Help yourself. Drinks are in the back– beer, soju, whatever you might want.” 

In-ho nods at her, shrugging off his coat and draping it across his arm. He makes his way to the back first, deciding on a beer from the fridge. He plans to stay sober tonight, but there’s no harm in having one just to calm his nerves a bit. He considers the food for a moment, but decides against it for now. His stomach is already tight.

A familiar voice catches his attention.

“In-ho!” Ali says, scooting his chair to make space as he waves him over. “I’m so glad you showed!"

In-ho makes his way over, sitting in the empty chair next to the man and draping his coat over the back of it. Ji-yeong sits across from him and gives him a friendly nod as he sits down. The young man beside her seems to perk up when In-ho sits. 

“Wait– so you’re In-ho?” He leans forward, eyes wide with a boyish energy about him.

In-ho takes a small sip of his beer and gives the man a careful glance. “...Depends on who’s asking.”

“Oh, sorry,” the man says quickly, raising his hands and leaning back. “I’m Dae-ho. Jung-bae just talks about you all the time.” 

In-ho hums. He’s definitely heard his name from Jung-bae before– though he didn’t picture someone so eager. And young. He’s maybe mid to late twenties if In-ho had to guess.

“I’ve been wanting to meet you,” Dae-ho continues, clearly unaware of his almost overwhelming enthusiasm. “He said you’re super sharp. Kind of scary though.” 

In-ho raises an eyebrow. “He would say that.”

Ali snorts into his drink, while Ji-yeong laughs into her hand. 

The laughter fades into background noise after as In-ho takes another small sip from his drink, offering only a small smile now and again to show he’s still listening. Dae-ho is still talking, his energy infectious but something keeps tugging at In-ho’s mind around the edges. And, despite the friendly conversation, In-ho finds his gaze consistently drifting towards the door. The longer the night stretches on, the more uneasy he feels. He had really expected Gi-hun to already be here– or at least be here by now. His absence sits heavy in his chest, worsening his growing anxiety about the night. 

Dae-ho must notice his looks. In-ho catches him throwing a glance towards the door and their eyes meet for a brief moment. 

“Wonder when Jung-bae’s getting here. He was the one who invited me in the first place. Kind of rude he’s not even here to hang out,” he says, laughing a little nervously. 

In-ho blinks. Right, Jung-bae isn’t here either. Another missing piece.

From the corner of his eye, he sees Sang-woo standing nearby. His face is illuminated in white as he looks down at his phone, his thumb tapping hard against the screen. His jaw is tight, and tension rolls off of him in waves. His shoulders are stiff, and he turns away from the group as he lifts the phone to his ear. 

In-ho shifts in his seat, unease settling in his stomach.

Sae-byeok moves to the table, taking her seat next to Ji-yeong who immediately leans into her without even saying anything. She sets her plate down along with a few bottles of unopened beer and sighs. 

“Alright,” she says, her tone light like she’s trying to lighten the mood. “Anyone got a story? Something that happened to them this year. Ali?”

Ali blinks, then smiles. “Actually yeah. Last week, you wouldn’t believe it. A customer came in dressed up real nice– in a suit and everything. He ended up buying all the Soboro bread. I thought he was joking at first, but when I laughed he didn’t react.”

“Wait, like all of it?” Dae-ho asks, looking incredulously at him.

Ali nods, making a face like he’s still perplexed by the memory. “I asked him what it was for, but he wouldn’t answer. Just said ‘It’s important,” and then walked out with them like it was a normal, everyday occurrence.”

Sae-byeok takes a small sip of her drink before leaning back in her chair. “Maybe he was going through a breakup or mid life crisis or something. Just figured he needed to drown in some carbs and regret.” 

That gets some laughter from the table. In-ho even finds himself smiling, the tension easing a bit from his shoulders. 

Sang-woo eventually joins them again, though he doesn’t sit. He stands near, nursing a beer of his own as he occasionally comments on something being said or lets out a small laugh at a joke he only half smiles at.

The conversation drifts from one topic to the next. Stories from work mostly– like chaotic customers, or personal disasters that make everyone laugh. In-ho, as usual, mostly just listens, content in being the quiet and observant one of the group. Comforted watching the others talk and laugh and have a good time. Occasionally, someone brings him in. Ali trying to get him to agree about something, or Sae-byeok tossing him a look as she reacts to someone’s exaggerated storytelling. 

But then Dae-ho leans in, a wide grin on his face. “You’re so quiet, In-ho. Surely you’ve had something interesting happen to you this year, yeah?” 

“Other than making bouquets and cleaning up petals? I doubt any of you would find that riveting,” In-ho says, lips twitching.

Laughter ripples again around the table, but Dae-ho is determined. He leans further in. “Come on– you gotta have something . I refuse to believe your year was boring.”  

In-ho hesitates, all eyes of the table on him. His hand curls around the neck of his beer bottle, fingers tapping the glass before he sighs– quietly, almost just to himself– and then he says “I never actually meant to work at the flower shop.”

That gets everyone’s attention, the table almost stilling. Even Sang-woo visibly reacts, turning towards him and raising a brow. 

In-ho doesn’t look at anyone, instead keeping his gaze focused on the bottle as he continues. “It was late. I went out for a walk, and out of nowhere it just started coming down. I didn’t have my umbrella. The first open door I saw was the shop. Figured I’d just stay inside and wait out the worst of it.” 

He finally looks up, meeting everyone’s gazes as he shrugs. “It was closed– but Gi-hun was working and had forgotten to lock the door. He didn’t kick me out, though. He thought maybe I was a customer in desperate need of some flowers. Was too busy talking to even notice the pouring rain outside.” 

That gets a few chuckles, even one out of Sang-woo.

“I told him I wasn’t there for flowers, but then he just immediately assumed I was there for the job listing that I didn’t even see. He shoved an application in my hand before I could even say anything or explain myself. Asked me to come in the day after tomorrow and, for some reason, I agreed.” In-ho’s voice softens as he speaks, and he clears his throat before he tightens it again. “Then, he finally noticed the rain. Gave me his umbrella, and then sent me on my way.”

A breath catches in his throat before he pushes on, his voice a little quieter now. “I didn’t plan to come back initially. But then I had his umbrella, and figured maybe I could return it and then explain myself. But then I just… didn’t. And here I am.” 

A moment passes. “Four months later.”

The table falls into a soft silence– warm and thoughtful. Then, Ji-yeong lets out a small amused sound, and nudges Sae-byeok who smiles into the rim of her drink. Dae-ho’s grin is still plastered on his face, but it looks gentler now. Like he didn’t expect such a genuine answer from In-ho. 

Sang-woo watches him, quiet and carefully. But his expression is thoughtful.

In-ho suddenly clears his throat, suddenly very aware of the way everyone is looking at him. He feels his face flush, and he quickly looks away feeling a bit sheepish. 

“Sorry. Not as funny as someone buying all the Soboro bread,” he mumbles. 

There’s a brief pause, then everyone seems to protest at once. 

“No! It was a good story,” Ji-yeong says, leaning forward. 

“It’s kind of sweet, if you think about it. You wouldn’t have met us if you never had the misunderstanding,” Sae-byeok says, smiling softly. 

“And so on brand for Gi-hun, too. Oblivious and yet somehow charming,” Ali says, shaking his head fondly. 

Dae-ho laughs, then leans forward, pointing at In-ho. “Wait, I have to know. Does Gi-hun even know that’s how you ended up working there?”

In-ho’s eyes widen and he shakes his head. “Absolutely not.” His eyes narrow, and his tone shifts to something a little more serious. “And nobody here better tell him. I’m serious.”

Sae-byeok smirks at him. “Your secret’s safe for now. Until I need it for blackmail, of course.”

Everyone laughs again, including In-ho. But the moment is quickly followed by a lull as Ali looks towards the door. 

“Speaking of Gi-hun– has anyone heard from him? It’s getting kind of late,” he says, frowning slightly. 

“Haven’t heard from Jung-bae either,” Dae-ho says, checking his phone and frowning. “You think they both forgot?” 

In-ho subtly checks his own phone, his chest tightening a little as he sees the time. 11:20. He’s been here for over an hour, and Gi-hun still hasn’t shown up.

Sang-woo makes an annoyed sound through his clenched teeth, grabbing In-ho’s attention. He pulls out his phone, bringing it to his ear for the second time tonight. “They’re both cutting it close. I’m stepping out and calling them. See what the hell is going on.” 

As Sang-woo heads towards the door, In-ho checks the time on his phone once more. Anxiety creeps back in, making his stomach sink. He’d plan to tell Gi-hun before midnight, before the fireworks. That window is starting to shrink fast. 

In-ho hesitates for a moment, before he unlocks his phone. He clicks Gi-hun’s name and types out something quick. 

In-ho [11:23 PM]: Everything okay? Everyone’s wondering where you are.

He hits send. But the moment his thumb leaves the screen, he hears it– shouting. Muffled at first, but nearby. He turns his head, looking out the bakery’s front windows. 

Outside under the glow of the streetlamps, Gi-hun and Jung-bae come stumbling into view. Both of them look disheveled. Their jackets are askew, their faces flushed red, and their hair windswept and unkempt. Jung-bae is clinging to Gi-hun’s shoulder like he’s using him to stand upright. He’s laughing, loud and unbothered. Gi-hun, on the other hand, is not laughing. His mouth is twisted into a frown, his hands moving uncoordinatedly as he gestures sharply in response to someone. 

To Sang-woo.

He’s just outside the door, finger pointed straight at Gi-hun as he barks something at him. His voice doesn’t carry through the glass, but the anger on his face is clear enough. Gi-hun snarls something back, his words clearly slurred. He pulls away from Jung-bae and takes a few stumbling steps forward, pointing his finger right back at Sang-woo.  

“Man…” Sae-byeok’s voice cuts in quietly. “Those two have been at each other’s throat lately.”

In-ho turns towards her, his brow furrowing. 

“Pretty much all month,” Ali agrees, sighing. 

Dae-ho frowns, glancing out the window for a moment. “They’ve been friends for a long time, right?” 

“Too long, maybe,” Ji-yeong mutters. 

In-ho says nothing. He turns back to the window just in time to see Gi-hun lift his head, their eyes meeting through the glass. The tension in Gi-hun’s face is gone in an instant. He visibly perks up– like he just remembered where he is and who’s all around him. 

Gi-hun straightens slightly. He pushes some stray hairs out of his eyes and blinks a few times like he’s trying to clear his vision. Then, without another word to Sang-woo– who’s still mid-sentence, looking like he wants to strangle Gi-hun– he shoves past him and comes inside, leaving a seething Sang-woo and grinning Jung-bae in his wake

The door swings open with a loud chime, and Gi-hun stumbles in with far too much energy for someone who’s clearly drunk off his ass. 

“In-ho!” he exclaims far too loudly. “You’re here! Everyone’s here!”

He makes a beeline for the table, weaving a bit as he walks. He lands heavily in the chair next to In-ho, his jacket slipping off his shoulders as he drops into the seat. He leans heavily into In-ho's side, Gi-hun’s shoulder pressing against In-ho’s arm– though he doesn’t seem to be aware of it. 

In-ho goes completely still.

“I’m so glad you came,” Gi-hun starts, his words slurring slightly. “I was so worried you wouldn’t– I know you said you would but– still. You’re here! And that’s good. So good.”

“Yes,” In-ho says, his words coming out tight and strained. “I’m here.”

Gi-hun smiles widely at him before he reaches across the table, grabbing one of the untouched beers there in the center, bumping In-ho’s arm as he does. He unscrews the cap and brings the drink to his lips, taking a long drink. 

“You’re late,” Ji-yeong says, arching a brow. “And drunk.”

“Late?” Gi-hun echoes, blinking a few times before he looks down at his wrist like there might be a watch there. There isn’t. “Oh. Huh. Well, I’m here now! Isn’t that what counts?” 

Ali gives a polite but awkward smile. “We were starting to wonder.”

Gi-hun waves a hand, dismissing him like it doesn’t matter. His body sprawls out in the seat, all loose limbs and warmth. His knee gently bumps In-ho’s under the table, then it just stays there pressed up against In-ho’s own. Gi-hun doesn’t even seem to notice.

In-ho notices. It’s the only thing he can pay attention to.

He keeps perfectly still, his hands clenched tightly in his lap. He tries not to lean away– or worse, lean into it. He can feel the press of Gi-hun’s leg against his own, warm and constant. A casual intimacy that leaves his chest tight. Too tight.

“You look nice by the way,” Gi-hun says suddenly, turning towards him with a lopsided smile. “Not that you don’t always but… you know. Just saying.” 

In-ho glances away, swallowing hard. “Thanks,” he mumbles. He shifts slightly to the side, but Gi-hun doesn’t seem to notice. Still continues to lean heavily into him as he starts to ramble to Ali about something. A line at the convenience store, something Jung-bae said– In-ho doesn’t even listen. Can’t manage to over the loud pounding in his ears and the anxiety that sits heavy in his stomach.

Ji-yeong cracks a joke that In-ho doesn’t even process. But it sends a wave of laughter around the table.

And Gi-hun laughs the loudest, and without thinking, leans fully into In-ho, his whole side pressing up against him. He smacks a hand lightly against In-ho’s thigh, quick and friendly but In-ho freezes. 

It’s too much.

He sucks in a tight breath, his chest aching. Something scrapes at the back of his throat, and he swallows it down hard, forcefully. 

He can’t do this. This isn’t how this was supposed to go. How is he supposed to confess like this? With Gi-hun drunk and completely unaware of what he’s doing. How is In-ho supposed to say the words he’s been holding in for so long to someone who might not even remember them being said in the first place? When every touch feels like cruel tease but is nothing more than the misplaced affections of a drunken man?

He can’t breathe. Not properly. 

He stares down at the table, the noise around him warping into a distant hum. He tries to wrack his brain for a way out of this, for a new plan. Nothing comes. 

Then, the bell of the door rings, but In-ho barely registers it. Doesn’t even register Sang-woo reentering the room until his voice cuts through the hum of the party like a knife. It’s enough to pull In-ho out of his spiral.

“You’ve had enough,” Sang-woo says coldly, his eyes locked on the beer in Gi-hun’s hand.

Gi-hun scowls at him, immediately defensive. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

“You’re over an hour late and you can’t even sit up straight.”

“I’m fine .”

“Maybe he’s right, Gi-hun. Some water might be better,” Ali says softly, and everyone at the table nods in agreement. 

Gi-hun lets out a frustrated noise, slumping in his chair. “Why’s everybody ganging up on me huh?” he complains. “I show up late– big deal. I wanna drink, it’s New Year’s. Not a damn intervention.”

He turns his gaze to In-ho who stares back at him with wide eyes. 

“In-ho doesn’t think it’s a big deal,” he adds, looking at him with a drunken pout. “Right?”

“Enough.” Sang-woo strides forward. “Give it here.”

Sang-woo reaches for the bottle, and Gi-hun jerks away with a childlike huff, slurring out some half-hearted protest as he twists hard to escape– too hard and right into In-ho’s side.

And then–

A cold rush of liquid spills all over In-ho’s shirt. 

He sucks in a sharp breath as it soaks through, the cold hitting his skin like a slap. 

The entire room goes quiet. He can feel everyone’s eyes on him.

“Oh shit,” Gi-hun says instantly, his voice rising and his eyes going wide. “Oh no– fuck , I didn’t– hang on–”

He fumbles for napkins on the table, nearly knocking over another glass as he does. His hands are all over In-ho now, clumsily patting at his chest, desperately trying to blot out the spreading stain to no avail.

“Gi-hun,” In-ho manages, though his voice is weak and thin. “Stop. It’s fine.” 

But it’s not fine.

It’s the exact opposite of fine.

The touch of his warm hands on his chest, his closeness. The scent of Gi-hun leaning over him– alcohol, but something floral there underneath. Something so distinctly Gi-hun. 

It’s too much.

A horrible sensation blooms behind his ribs. His lungs spasm once, then again. He can feel it coming, crawling up his throat.

No– no . Not here. Not in front of everyone.

Gi-hun’s hands still as if he suddenly senses the tenseness of In-ho’s body. His hands still linger gently on his chest, and he looks up, confused with wide eyes and a flushed face. “Are you okay?” 

In-ho’s stomach twists. He gets to his feet too quickly, nearly knocking the chair over as he does. His hands are shaking.

“I–I just need a minute,” his voice comes out hoarse and strained as he steps away from the table.

Gi-hun stares up at him, guilt and confusion scrawled over his features. “Wait– In-ho I didn’t mean to–”

In-ho quickly turns away, doesn’t answer. Doesn’t look back, already moving towards the door.

He nearly collides with someone in the doorway– Jung-bae.

“Woah, what the hell happened to you?” Jung-bae asks, blinking at him.

But In-ho doesn’t stop. Doesn’t answer. Just barrels out the door.

The cold hits like a knife against his wet skin, but it’s nothing compared to the twisting inside his chest. He moves just far enough to be out of the view of the bakery windows before his body finally gives out.

He doubles over, gasping loudly as he braces a hand against the brick wall, the other against his mouth. 

Then he coughs. Violently. Painfully.

A cascade of petals spill out into his shaking hand– white daisies, red and ragged scabiosas, thin purple hyacinths. All together, wet and still warm from his lungs. 

He stares at the mess in his hand, his breathing coming in shallow and pained gasps. His thoughts race, his heart pounds against his ribs. There’s only one thought in his head. This isn’t how this was supposed to go.

Then–

“Damn– are you good, man? That coughing sounded awful.”

In-ho startles, his entire body jerking at the sound. He whips around too fast, nearly losing his balance as he does, shoving the handful of petals behind his back in a tight fist.

It’s Jung-bae. His brows lift when he sees In-ho’s face. He’s standing just a few feet away like he must have followed him out when he left. Shit . How much did he see?

“I’m fine,” In-ho practically forces out, but his hoarse voice betrays him.

Jung-bae takes a few steps forward, squinting his eyes as he looks him over.

“Are you sure? You look like you just got hit by a truck.” His eyes sweep downwards. “And what happened to your shirt? Yeesh – you’re soaked in beer and out here without a jacket? How’d you manage that?”

He looks away and then lets out a low chuckle. “No, wait. I bet it was Gi-hun, huh? I know how clumsy he gets when he’s drunk.”

In-ho stiffens.

It’s a small reaction, but when Jung-bae looks back at him he seems to catch it. His laughter fades.

He watches him now with a different expression, his head tilting. Then, his gaze narrows, flicking to In-ho’s mouth. “Wait, hang on–”

Jung-bae steps closer, peering at In-ho’s face. “You’ve got something right there.” He reaches out and before In-ho can even react, he’s plucked something from the corner of his mouth. When he pulls back, there’s a single pale white daisy petal stuck to the pad of his finger.

In-ho freezes.

Jung-bae stares at the petal for a long second. Then, his entire face shifts as he looks up at In-ho.

His eyes widen slowly. Then something seems to click into place.

“Holy shit,” he breathes out. “You have Hanahaki.”

In-ho clenches his jaw. “You’re being ridiculous,” he tries, but his voice cracks.

“Ridiculous, yeah?” Jung-bae scoffs. “Then what’s in your hand behind your back, huh? A handful of air? Or more petals?” 

In-ho doesn’t move.

Jung-bae exhales through his nose. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.” He steps a little closer, swaying as he does. A little too close, but in his drunken state he has no idea how cornered he’s making In-ho feel. “Why’re you hiding it?” You clearly didn’t just find out so how long’s it been?”

In-ho stays silent, his chest rising and falling just a little too fast. 

“And who is it?” Jung-bae presses, like he just can’t help himself. “Who’s got you all worked up? Maybe an old friend– or maybe a customer ?” He snorts. “Who’s the lucky lady?”

In-ho doesn’t react. Refuses to. 

Jung-bae pauses, his eyes flickering across In-ho’s face. “Oh. Okay. Or– fella then?” 

In-ho’s head turns sharply. Just enough to glare at him.

“Okay, okay,” Jung-bae says, taking a step back and holding up a hand. “I got it. No teasing. Just… I can’t help but be curious.” 

Jung-bae looks away for a long moment, and In-ho debates on if he should just excuse himself. Or if he should just turn and walk away without another word.

But then he glances back at him, quieter now. “Why haven’t you told them?” His voice is soft and still slow from the alcohol still in his system. But his tone is undoubtedly genuine. “I mean. You’re easy on the eyes, man. And you got that whole quiet, broody thing going for you. Some people like that.” 

In-ho’s expression hardens. Something in him suddenly snaps .

“I would have told him tonight ,” he bites out before thinking it through, “if it wasn’t for you .” 

The words leave his mouth before he can stop them. And the second they’re out there, it’s like the world stutters. 

His breath catches. His eyes widen. Fuck .

And Jung-bae…

Jung-bae just… gapes at him. All the color seems to drain from his face as realization creeps in.

“Oh. Oh shit …”

He stares at In-ho, his mouth agape. “It’s… it’s Gi-hun .”

He doesn’t need a confirmation. In-ho’s silence is more than enough. His shoulders tense up, his jaw clenches. He feels exhausted .

“ Fuck , man,” Jung-bae says under his breath. 

A long beat passes. Then finally, Jung-bae turns to him again.

“I’m so sorry.” His voice is quiet.

In-ho doesn’t answer at first. Doesn’t know how to. Just stares at him. Lets the silence stretch for long enough that it feels final. But then, slowly, he speaks.

“...Why?”

Jung-bae stares at him, confused. “What?”

“Why did you have to go out drinking like that?” In-ho asks, his voice rough and laced with anger. “Tonight, out of all nights?”

Jung-bae winces. He glances down the street, like maybe he wants to just disappear. “It’s just… shit timing.” 

In-ho narrows his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Jung-bae runs a hand down his face. “I probably shouldn’t tell you this. He didn’t want anyone to know. Didn’t want to bring the mood down.” 

In-ho waits and doesn’t say a word. Just stares.

Jung-bae exhales heavily. “He called me earlier today. Already at the bar. Said he needed to talk to someone. He… got some bad news.”

In-ho’s stomach tightens, but he doesn’t interrupt. 

“His ex-wife came over unexpectedly,” Jung-bae continues, his tone serious. “Dropped a bomb on him. She’s moving, her and her husband. To America.”

He glances at In-ho before he sighs.

“With Ga-yeong.” 

The words land hard in In-ho’s chest. He swallows. “Can’t he… do something?”

Jung-bae shakes his head, looking solemn. “I mean, what can he do? He doesn’t have custody. Barely even gets to see her as it is with how much he works. And even if he tried to do something, it would just be a lot of stress. Especially on her.”

Jung-bae looks up at In-ho, his eyes sad. “And you know Gi-hun. He loves her so much. He wouldn’t want to do that to her. Not after seeing how hard the divorce was on her already.” He sighs again, and looks down at the ground. “He was pretty messed up over it. So we just…kept drinking. And then suddenly it was late, and he was drunk. Drunker than me. I thought I was helping a friend.”

He swallows, glancing back over at In-ho.

“I didn’t realize I was screwing another friend over.”

In-ho doesn’t speak. Couldn’t even if he tried to. 

The words hang heavy in the air between them. The street around them is quiet, almost eerily so. 

But inside In-ho’s head, his thoughts are loud. Deafening. Everything Jung-bae said sinks in slowly, painfully.

Gi-hun’s daughter– gone. Taken away from him. There’s nothing he can do. He’s losing someone he loves, and yet he still thinks of others. Doesn’t want anyone to know so they don’t have to feel his pain. 

But In-ho knows.

And, fuck, what the hell was he thinking?

Something shifts inside his chest. Folding in on itself, tightening like a fist behind his ribs. Guilt.

How could he have been so selfish ?

Because what the hell was he even thinking? He was going to confess . Make this all about him– about his feelings, his pain, his hope– when Gi-hun was losing his own daughter. And In-ho was just going to add his love, his trauma, his sickness to the pile?

In-ho stares down at the cracked sidewalk, his jaw tight. He nearly laughs, but the sound that comes out is bitter and breathless.

What kind of man is he to try and slide himself into someone else’s life like this? Someone who’s already under so much, dealing with so much. 

And even if Gi-hun did return the feelings– what then? Would In-ho truly ask Gi-hun to carry this too? A traumatized and broken man who can’t even control his emotions without medication. A man who’s only ever good at pushing other people away, even if he thought for a moment he was more than that?

He doesn’t deserve Gi-hun. He’s not a good man. He never was, even if Gi-hun made him believe, for a little while, that he might be. But looking at the petals in his hand, crumpled and wet from the force of his grip, all he sees is foolishness. A dream. A selfish, foolish dream.

“In-ho?” Jung-bae’s voice is quiet. Concerned. 

But he doesn’t answer him. Doesn’t even spare him a parting glance. 

He just turns. Walks away.

Jung-bae calls out something from behind him but In-ho doesn’t catch it. Doesn’t want to. 

He just keeps moving, each step faster than the last until the bakery lights behind him fade and vanish, and the cold seeps through his clothes, through his skin, to his bones. 

Somewhere, in the distance, the first fireworks burst into the night sky. The light paints the rooftops in reds and golds. They crackle and whistle, and people shout in celebration.

In-ho doesn’t even look up. 

___________________________

His apartment is cold when he enters it. He doesn’t bother turning on the lights, the only illumination spilling in from the city outside his window. He closes the door behind him and leans heavily into it, his chest heaving in slow uneven breaths.

In-ho’s shirt is still damp with the beer. It clings to his skin uncomfortably, but he barely notices it. He peels away from the door and walks on unsteady feet to his bed. He sinks down on the edge of it, his hands gripping the sheets tightly.

The petals are gone from earlier– tossed away as he ran back, somewhere forgotten on the street. But he can still feel them. In his lungs, in his throat. A heavy, familiar weight. 

His heart races. Every time he blinks, he sees Gi-hun’s face staring up at him– bright and flushed from the alcohol. Smiling at him. 

He doesn’t want to die, he realizes. 

But there’s no space for him in Gi-hun’s life. Not like this. 

He presses the heels of his palms to his eyes until he sees stars dance behind his eyelids. And then–

He remembers. 

The card. In his bedside table. Crumpled and tucked away like a grim reminder.

In-ho lurches forward, scrambling off the mattress to the floor. He pulls the drawer open with unsteady hands. He finds it still waiting for him, pulling it out like something fragile.

We can help you.

The words are still legible, though the ink is smudged. 

His grip tightens. He flips the card over. The number stares back at him. 

He told himself he wouldn’t need it. That this wouldn’t happen. But here he is. 

He opens his phone, the light harsh in the dark of his apartment. His thumb hovers over the keypad. Then, slowly, meticulously, he punches in the numbers. One at a time. 

The screen glows bright in his hand as he stares at it. His thumb hovers over the call button.

He presses it.

Chapter Text

Chapter 13: Oleander

In-ho watches the elevator numbers blink upwards, one after the next. Five…six…seven. He doesn’t move. His gaze only drifts down as the elevator doors slowly slide open with a soft ding. This is what he was instructed to do. Arrive at the Sky building. Alone. Take the elevator up to the seventh floor.

He steps out.

The room he enters is wide and empty, save for the far wall made entirely of glass. The floor to ceiling windows overlook the city, the lights from the outside buildings glittering in the night and filling the room with a soft blue glow.

Near the windows, tucked in the corner of the room, there are two leather armchairs. A man sits in one, his back facing In-ho. 

He hesitates at first, but then steps forward. His footsteps echo against the polished floor, loud in the quiet of the empty room.

As he draws close, the man shifts slightly. He turns his head just enough so In-ho can see him. He’s older– much older than himself. His hair is gray and receding, his face lined but calm.

There’s something striking about him. Not from power or intimidation like he expected. But simply his presence. And his eyes. When they meet In-ho’s, they’re soft. Kind, even. Unexpectedly so.

The man smiles at him, light and warm. Like they’re old friends.

“It’s good to see you again, In-ho,” he says.

In-ho goes still. 

That voice .

It’s lodged in his memory like a thorn. 

That last night. When they had them dressed up nicely. When they fed them a feast piled high on silver platters.

It was meant to be decadent. Some kind of reward for getting this far. Everyone fell into it so easily– starved to the brink, they tore into the food with their bare hands, gulping sips of wine like water. They ate until they could barely move, like wolves ripping apart a carcass until only bones remained. 

But not In-ho. 

Even with his stomach gnawing itself from the inside out, In-ho couldn’t bring himself to trust it. None of the food, the wine, and definitely not the hands that served it. He ate only what he needed. Enough to survive, enough to keep him strong. 

He refused to look like a rabid animal in front of strangers.

In front of the many eyes watching him– especially the ones he suspected he couldn’t see. 

And then later, when the rest of them had passed out– maybe too full, too drunk, or even drugged– one of those faceless guards came to him. Didn’t say a word, just nudged him out of his bed with the barrel of their gun and took him down quiet, brightly painted halls. Into an elevator. Up.

The room he had been brought to was a stark difference to the pastel and childlike colors of the halls outside. It was dark, elegant. Rich. 

In front of him, as he exited the elevator, had been a chair. Dark brown and leather. A man with a bejeweled and gaudy owl mask sat there, watching him as he approached. In front of him was a table and a wooden chair that he gestured for him to sit in.

He never introduced himself. Simply gave him a knife, sheathed in a black and gold case. Told him to take it. To kill the trash. 

In that same voice he hears now.

Even the setup is the same– the two chairs, the table between them. Except this time, there’s no mask. No glittering facade. Just the aged face of the man who once hid underneath it, his skin pale in the lights of the city, but his eyes sharp and knowing as they stare up at In-ho. 

In-ho says nothing. Just stands there, his heart pounding beneath his ribs.

The man searches his face for a moment. His smile grows a bit wider.

“Ah, good,” he says softly. “You do remember.” His hand gestures to the other chair again. “Well, sit then. Let's have another conversation. Like back then.”

In-ho hesitates. His feet feel stuck to the ground, and every part of his mind is screaming at him to leave. To turn around and run. That he’s making a mistake. 

But slowly, cautiously he moves– and sits. 

The man leans back in his armchair, almost watching In-ho with something like fondness in his eyes. Then, slowly, he reaches under the table.

In-ho’s entire body tenses, his fingers curling tightly against his thighs. He tries to hide it, but the man notices his recoil.

“There’s no reason to be scared,” he says, his voice almost sounding amused. “I’m not going to pull out a knife. Not this time.” He chuckles at his own words, the sound soft but unsettling. 

In-ho’s jaw tightens and he continues to say nothing, his fingers digging so hard into his skin that they’ve gone white.

The old man pulls something out from beneath the table. Not a weapon– but a crystal decanter set. The kind with little elegant glasses that clink softly together when moved. He sets them there on the table between them with a soft thunk , then uncorks the decanter and pours two neat shots of amber liquid.

“Here,” he says, sliding one forward. “I know you like whiskey.” 

In-ho doesn’t move. Watches the other man as he takes his own glass and brings the rim to his lips. Listens to him hum as he sips, like he’s genuinely enjoying the taste. His own gaze never leaves In-ho.

The silence stretches. 

Then, finally, In-ho brings himself to speak, though his voice is quiet and dry.

“...Who are you?”

The man sets his glass down gently.

“Oh,” he says, sounding surprised. “I suppose I never properly introduced myself.”

He shakes his head slightly, smiling as though he’s acknowledging a small oversight. 

“I’m Oh Il-nam.” 

The name means nothing to him. The syllables roll in his head for a few moments– like maybe he’s heard it before in a case file, maybe a press briefing from his police days. But no. His mind remains blank. Just another name.

“You know, the last two winners… They were nothing like you,” Il-nam continues, smiling and almost looking wistful for a moment. “We still talk about the 2015 games. What a final show you gave– so unpredictable. I truly didn’t know if you had it in you.” 

In-ho’s stomach turns. Just hearing the year is enough to make him feel sick, make his hands clench tighter. 

“You had such a good cop persona,” Il-nam continues, almost chuckling. “Always trying to help people, especially the weaker ones. Always trying to play fair. You were quite popular amongst everyone watching.”

Something thick sticks in In-ho’s throat. He swallows heavily around it, looking away from Il-nam. No longer able to bear seeing him anymore, trying to look anywhere else. Trying not to listen to him.

“But that ending,” Il-nam continues. “Brutal. Quick and efficient. You really surprised us all.” 

In-ho’s skin crawls with revulsion at the praise. The room suddenly feels warmer, suffocating him. His chest is tight, breathing shallow. Even now, years later, the memories are still sharp. 

Standing over the bed. His chest is heaving, and sweat drips from his hair into his eyes, stinging them. The metallic scent of blood is all around him, all over him. Hot and wet– sprayed across his face, his neck, his hands. Staining the white of his shirt. 

The man beneath him is barely recognizable. His throat is split open, head lolled to the side at an unnatural angle. His chest is littered in stab wounds, like a grotesque constellation of violence. Blood seeps out in rivulets, soaking into the white sheets below him. 

His breathing stutters, echoing around him in the silence.

And then he turns, looking to his left. Four more beds. Four more bodies.

Their throats, their chests. All torn apart by the same hand. His hand.

He’s the last one left. 

It’s over. 

The realization crashes into him like a wave, his back hitting the wall behind him. His knees give out, and he slides down the cold, white brick. The knife slips from his grasp, hitting the floor with a wet clatter. Blood from his fingertips leave dark streaks on his pants as he folds in on himself.

The room is suddenly filled with a golden glow from above. The piggy bank whirs to life, and bills rain down as high pitched jingle plays. The money counter slowly ticks up, until it finally stops. 45.6 billion won. The final blood price. 

But In-ho doesn’t look up.

He stares down at his hands, still coated in red. Still shaking. 

He feels no triumph. No relief. Just a silent, hollow horror. 

In-ho comes back to himself with a sharp inhale. The room suddenly swims into focus– the light of the city skyline behind him, Il-nam’s patient gaze, the table between them. The glass of whiskey still sitting untouched.

In-ho’s fingers twitch, then move forward. Reaching for the whiskey like a lifeline. 

He grabs it with shaking hands. Brings the rim to his lips and knocks it back quickly, the liquid burning its way down his throat. Hoping it’ll drown the memory away for good. Hoping it’ll rid the lingering taste of blood in his mouth. 

Silence follows. In-ho grips the glass in his hand tight.

Then, in a raw voice–

“...Why?” In-ho asks. “Why give the knife to me?” 

Il-nam doesn’t answer at first. Takes a long moment, swirling the remaining liquid in his glass. His eyes never leave In-ho’s face.

“I wanted to see what you would do,” he says at last, his voice gentle. “Like I said, you were very popular. I even found myself fascinated by you.”  He smiles slightly, like what he says is a compliment. 

“But kindness,” he continues, “tends to have a limit. Everyone eventually breaks. Gives in to human nature.” 

In-ho stares at him. The muscles in his jaw clench. 

“I don’t blame you,” Il-nam adds lightly. “In fact, I found myself rooting for you. Many of us were.” 

In-ho’s stare sharpens. 

“...Who?” In-ho asks, his voice tight. “Who was rooting for me?”

Il-nam leans back, seeming to take a moment to let the question sink in. He taps a finger on his glass, almost looking pensive.

“I earn a living lending out money to others. And over the years, you know what I realized?” He pauses, watching In-ho for a moment. He brings his drink to his lips and takes a long sip before he continues.

“People with too much money and people with no money have one thing in common.” He sighs. “Living stops being fun. For either of them.”

Il-nam sets his now empty glass back down on the table.

“All of my clients. They started to feel the same way. Everybody felt there was no joy in their lives anymore. Numb. Restless. So we all got together, started thinking. How could we all have some fun again?”

“That’s fun?” In-ho spits bitterly. “Putting us all through that? Starving us, watching us kill each other?”

Il-nam’s smile falters, and his brow furrows slightly. 

“You seem to forget everyone chose to be there,” he says. “Everyone signed the contracts. No one was forced to stay. Including you.” 

“But there were people who wanted to leave,” In-ho snaps. “You didn’t let them.” 

Il-nam raises an eyebrow. “We put it to a vote, don’t you remember?”

“That’s not the point!” In-ho’s voice echoes in the empty room. “You could have let them leave– the ones who voted to go. Instead, you trapped them there like everyone else!”

“But that isn’t what the contract said,” Il-nam replies calmly, tilting his head. “And everyone knew that. Majority rules.”

Il-nam fixes his gaze on In-ho. His brow furrows, but his voice is still gentle.

“And, if I recall correctly– you were one of the ones who voted to stay. If it meant that much to you… why wouldn’t you vote to leave? To get those people out?”

In-ho’s mouth snaps shut. Il-nam’s words hit him like a slap to the face. And as much as he wants to say something, spit something back at him, he knows that Il-nam is right. 

Because he remembers. When he turned around after casting his vote. The way so many eyes followed him as he walked back, wide and full of fear, full of disappointment. How when he joined the crowd of people who had already voted, many stepped away from him. How no one said anything, but nobody had to. Their expressions, their actions had said enough. 

The guilt of his decision hasn’t faded. He suspects it never will. 

He doesn’t dare say another word. 

Il-nam doesn’t press him to say more. He lets the silence stretch between them for a long moment before he sighs.

“And in the end, In-ho,” Il-nam gestures loosely. “You won. That money– all of it. It’s your reward. Your second chance. And yet…”

Il-nam narrows his eyes at him. “You live even worse than you did before. In a tiny apartment that you barely touch. You don’t travel. You barely spend. You don’t enjoy life. And, for some reason, you work in that little flower shop. What’s it called again? Ga-yeong’s Flowers ?”

In-ho’s shoulders stiffen and his head snaps up at the mention of the flower shop. “Leave that place out of this,” he warns, his voice low. “Leave the people there alone.” 

Il-nam immediately holds up a hand, a gesture of retreat. “Apologies,” he says mildly. “I didn’t mean anything by bringing it up.” 

He leans forward and uncorks the decanter before pouring himself another glass. He brings the glass up, swirling the liquid so it catches the light in the room. “Though,” he adds after a beat. “You have to admit. That place has brought you more trouble in the end. Considering it’s why you’re in the condition you’re in now. Why you find yourself even here at all.” 

Il-nam’s eyes drift back to In-ho’s face. Calm and knowing. “Him. The feelings, the flowers. That’s where it all started, didn’t it?” 

In-ho shifts in his seat, his eyes narrowing. 

“Don’t talk about him,” he says, his voice cold. Controlled. “If there’s something you want from me, then say it.”

Il-nam simply chuckles, unbothered. He takes a long sip from his glass before he continues.

“One of my clients. She took quite a liking to you.”

In-ho doesn’t respond, but his eyes narrow slightly. 

“She came to the island, you know. To watch you in person. She had never come before. But this time, she said she had to see you with her own eyes.” 

He pauses, letting that linger in the air for a moment before continuing.

“She’s a surgeon. From America. Refined– specializing in Hanahaki cases. She’s highly sought after. Always booked solid.” Il-nam watches him carefully, leaning back slightly in his chair. “You’ve coughed up three flowers now, haven’t you?” His voice is calm, conversational. “At that stage, it’s safe to assume even without further testing that the flowers are rooted deep. Any standard surgeon would turn you away. It’s too dangerous, too complicated. And even if you found one you trusted that was willing to operate…” He waves a hand vaguely. “Well. You know how that would leave you.”

In-ho feels heavy. The words are familiar, but the weight of them is no easier to bear hearing them spoken out loud.

“But this woman,” Il-nam says, smiling faintly. “She’s something else. The best of the best. She’s performed surgeries on people even further along than you. And in some rare cases…” He pauses, raising a brow. “They’ve been able to retain their emotions. Not completely, no. The ability to love is still completely stripped away. But they were able to keep…enough. Enough to remember. To recall what it might have felt like.”

That lands like a stone in In-ho’s chest.

“It’s not guaranteed, of course. That you’d be able to remember. But I imagine, considering what happened with your wife,” Il-nam says, tilting his head. “You’d want any chance you could find.”

The words hit him hard, and In-ho flinches. His jaw tightens until it aches. He forces himself to look away, blinking rapidly as he swallows down the sob that threatens to tear from his throat. 

“She’d do it for free,” Il-nam adds after a moment, still studying the man curiously. “You see… you won her quite a bit of money. She doesn’t do house calls– but she’s more than willing to make an exception for you.”

In-ho lifts his head up to look at Il-nam. There’s a taut silence. Like a thread being pulled too tightly. 

Eventually, In-ho speaks, his voice flat. 

“But you want something from me.”

“I do.” Il-nam says, letting out a soft chuckle. “I’m old, In-ho. No one really knows how much time they have left– but I know I don’t have much. Money can buy a lot of great things. But it can’t buy more time.”

Il-nam looks past In-ho as he speaks, to the city skyline behind him. There’s a thoughtful look in his eyes as he gazes back at In-ho.

“I see myself in you. In the way you think, in the way you play. The way you survive. Someone like you– I think you could be suited to take up my mantle. For when I eventually go.”

In-ho blinks slowly, his body stilling. “...Take up the mantle?”

Il-nam nods calmly. Like he’s giving In-ho a normal job opportunity, and not asking him to orchestrate and run an island full of desperate people playing death games. 

“Yes. Run them, In-ho.”

There’s a moment of stunned silence. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” In-ho snaps, his voice full of anger and disbelief. 

Il-nam doesn’t even flinch. If anything, he seems amused by the reaction. “Ah, but think about it. You’d have full control. You could make them fairer. Shape them into something balanced, precised. And who better than someone like you to run them– you’ve been in them. You’ve seen the worst of it all, up close. You know what needs to change.”

He studies In-ho’s face, his thin smile never fading. 

“You could recruit people who truly stand a chance. Give them more choices the others never had. Either way, the games continue with or without me. With or without you. So, why not try to do something? Be the one shaping the rules?”

In-ho’s lips press into a hard line, his jaw clenching. He says nothing– but inside, his stomach churns. Even the thought of returning to that island makes his skin crawl. He can’t even imagine standing at the center of it all– being the one in charge. Orchestrating each round, each death. Hundreds of faces that would surely haunt him in his sleep for the rest of his life. Like the ones he’s seen already do. 

Would he slowly become numb to it? Over time, would he find some sort of enjoyment out of it like Il-nam and his clients seem to do? 

That thought makes him feel sick. 

“You don’t have to decide right now,” Il-nam says, leaning over the table and pouring himself another glass of whiskey. “Though… considering your condition, it might be better to decide sooner rather than later.”

He takes a slow sip, eyes fixed on In-ho. Unblinking and smiling. 

In-ho doesn’t respond. He just sits there, shoulders hunched and his hands curled into tight fists on his knees. 

He’s not a good man. Maybe, once he was. But not anymore. He stopped being a good man when he wasn’t there for her. Wasn’t there when she died, when she needed him most. Doing everything he did, just to fail her in the end. And now, the idea of forgetting her– of having her memory slowly slip away from him– it’s unbearable. Like failing her all over again. A surgery from any doctor might save his life, but it would take the only things he has left of her. Her laugh, her smile. The way he felt when she would say his name. He couldn’t live like that. He doesn’t want to. 

And Gi-hun… The pain in his chest sharpens even just thinking of him. But it would hurt less to do it this way. To leave without an explanation. To vanish from his life as easily as he slipped into it. Become nothing but a fond, harmless memory. Not a burden. Not a man hollow from one-sided love. Gi-hun wouldn’t have to see any of it. He could move forward with his life, fix things with his family. Focus on the things that really matter. And In-ho wouldn’t get in the way of that. 

And Jun-ho… He’d hate him for this. But maybe that’s easier, too. Much easier than watching his older brother become this. A broken and emptied-out man. Maybe Jun-ho could remember him as something else. A version of himself that was good, or at least close to it.

There isn’t a right choice. They’re all bad. But this one– it hurts the least. It gives him a chance to keep the things important to him, even if it’s selfish. Monstrous, even. But at least the people closest to him won’t have to see him suffer.  

In-ho’s chest is tight and his throat burns. He doesn’t want to speak, doesn’t want to answer– but the words leave him anyway, barely above a whisper.

“...I’ll do it.”

Il-nam smiles at him like he already knew his answer. Like he expected this.

“Good, then,” he says softly, setting his drink back on the table with a soft clink . “Very good. We can take you tonight.”

In-ho’s breath catches. Tonight ? He doesn’t say anything, but Il-nam seems to catch his hesitation. He chuckles lightly. 

“I understand. It’s a big decision,” he says, unbothered. “Tomorrow then. In the evening.” He stands slowly from his chair and walks past In-ho to the window behind him.”That way you can tie up any loose ends hanging above your head.”

In-ho doesn’t move at first. He watches as Il-nam moves past him, slow and steady. Unbothered. Like they’ve just been discussing something mundane. Not… this. 

Eventually, his legs remember how to work. He rises stiffly, the weight of the conversation sitting heavy on his shoulders. Without a word, he turns and heads towards the door.

“Someone will leave you a card. With further instructions,” Il-nam calls out behind him. In-ho glances back, but Il-nam isn’t even looking at him. 

He faces forward. Then he leaves without another word.

___________________________

In-ho’s apartment is quiet as he steps inside. Untouched. Exactly as he left it. He makes his way across the room slowly, mind racing with thoughts he tries not to dwell on, that he isn’t ready to face. He sinks into the edge of his mattress, not even bothering to take off his shoes, his coat or anything. 

Then he sees it.

A black envelope, tied neatly with pink ribbon. Sitting there like it’s been waiting for him on his bedside table. 

He stares at it for a long moment.

Then, slowly, he reaches out and grabs it.

The envelope is heavier than it looks. He takes the string and unties it slowly before he pulls the card inside free.

It’s gold this time. Not tan. The shapes are the same– circle, triangle, square– but they’re neater, unsmudged. He turns it over.

Club HDH

8:00 PM

That’s it. No further instructions. No number to call. Just a time and a place. Like he’s being summoned there. 

He sets it back down on his nightstand. Tries not to think about it and the weight it carries. 

In-ho leans back into the mattress and tries to shut his eyes, praying that sleep will take him. But his body won’t loosen, his thoughts won’t quiet. His mind continues to repeat the conversation from earlier, all of Il-nam’s words echoing in his head.

Tie up any loose ends .

Jun-ho.

Gi-hun.

His chest tightens painfully at even the mere thought of the both of them. His brother– so damn persistent. So stubborn. So unwilling to let him go, even when In-ho gave him more than enough reasons to do so.

And Gi-hun. Oh, Gi-hun . With his almost frustrating optimism. His soft looks, his smiles. The way he looked at In-ho like a person. Like he wasn’t stained with the blood of the people whose lives he took. Like he was good. He looked at In-ho like he wanted to understand, but only when In-ho was ready. When In-ho would let him. And maybe, in another life, it could have worked out that way. 

He’ll disappear this time– really be gone. And he knows they both won’t stop looking for him. Especially if he leaves without a single word.

But he can’t see them in person– he can’t even handle the thought of trying to say goodbye, doesn’t want to even think of how Gi-hun might react, might look at him

Jun-ho would yell at him undoubtedly. Try to convince him to stay, might even throw him in a cell if he has to. 

He can’t risk that. But leaving them with nothing at all doesn’t feel right either. 

A message then. Maybe a text right before he leaves? 

No. That feels…wrong. Too impersonal, too flat. Besides, there’s already unread messages on his phone. From Gi-hun this morning. After New Year’s. Before the offer. Before the decision he’s made.

He hasn’t looked at them. He doesn’t think he can.

In-ho sits up with a quiet exhale, rubbing a hand down his face. Instinctively, his hand reaches into his coat pocket– intending to grab a cigarette– but his fingers brush against something else instead. Cold and metal. 

A key. 

He pulls it out and stares at it, the metal catching the faint glow of the streetlights through his window. 

The key to the shop.

Gi-hun had given it to him his second week working there. In-ho had barely worked there six days before he had already decided he trusted him. Like it was no big deal.

Just in case I’m running late, or if I overslept. Or if you forget something inside, Gi-hun had said, pressing the key into his hand with no hesitation. 

In-ho thought it was naive of him. To trust someone he just met so quickly. 

But In-ho had never used it. At least, not to open. Gi-hun was always there before him, bright and early with way too much energy considering the hour. But it still meant something, regardless of its lack of use. A small, unspoken gesture of trust. 

He tightens his grip around it. A little anchor in his palm.

He needs to return it.

 A letter, then. In-ho could slip it inside an envelope along with the key. A finality. A way to really solidify to himself and everyone else that he isn’t coming back. 

But what would he even say?

That he’s sorry? Here’s your key back, I’m leaving forever, don’t try to find me.

He shakes his head, frustrated. Surely he can do better than that. 

In-ho sits down at his desk, pulling out a pen and paper.

The first attempt doesn’t even get past the first line. The second one is crumpled after the first few words. 

The third gets further, but he crosses everything out violently and crumples it, too, in his fist.

He writes with shaking hands, trying to remain composed. But nothing sounds right. Too stiff. Too emotional. Too long. Too short.

The floor around him quickly is filled with discarded drafts. His fingers ache from holding the pen for so long.

And then, eventually, as the sun starts to rise and a soft light begins to peek through his windows, he has it. 

Gi-hun,

Thank you. For everything. 

I wish I could have stayed, but deep down I always knew I couldn’t. 

I’m sorry. 

When Jun-ho inevitably comes, tell him I’m sorry too.

Please don’t try to find me.

–In-ho

He reads it over once. Then again. And again. 

It isn’t long. But every word is true. He stares at the paper for a long moment before he folds the letter carefully. He runs his fingers over the crease gently before he slides it into a plain envelope.

The shop key sits beside him on the table, glinting in the morning light. He takes it in his hand, running his fingers over it longer than necessary before he takes it and tapes it securely to the outside of the envelope.

A clean farewell. 

He sets the envelope on his nightstand before letting himself sink into his bed. The exhaustion finally catches up to him, but he just lays there. Staring at the ceiling. His thoughts spinning.

Sleep won’t come. But he closes his eyes anyway

___________________________

At seven, In-ho finally moves.

The entire day was spent doing nothing. Just sitting, staring. Waiting. Trying to let time pass in the way people do when they’re just trying to make it through the next hour. The next minute. Seconds that drag by like they’re there to mock you.

His phone buzzes on the night stand. Again. It had done so many times today. He didn’t have to look to guess who it was from. There were many from Gi-hun. Some from Sang-woo. A few from his brother. Even one from Jung-bae, surprisingly. 

All left unread.

It didn’t matter anymore.

He places his phone screen down on his night stand and leaves it there. He won’t need it anymore. Won’t need much of anything anymore, so he takes nothing with him except the clothes he wears and the envelope tucked in his pocket with the key taped to the top of it. 

The walk is long, but deliberate. Club HDH is across the city, tucked in a part where the lights are too bright and the people are too loud. Far enough away that even if he starts second-guessing himself he can’t just turn around. Far enough that once he’s in, he’s in for good. 

But first, he has one last stop to make. And it’s on the way.

He doesn’t rush. His pace is steady, his hands in his pockets. The streets are quiet tonight. Quieter than they should be. He catches the scent in the air– rain. A breeze brushes past him, and a few scattered raindrops hit his cheeks, but he doesn’t react to them. 

Each step towards the shop feels slower and heavier than the last. Like his body is trying to stall, even though his mind won’t let it.

Familiar shapes ahead of him start to take form. The awnings, the windows. The sign. He exhales slowly.

It’s late, past closing hours for a Sunday. The shop is dark from the outside, just as he expected. But as he rounds the corner and approaches the front, he notices something strange. 

The lights are still on inside– not all of them, just the ones above the counter and a faint glow spilling out from the back room, almost like someone forgot to turn them off. 

In-ho’s brow furrows. That’s strange– he knows Sang-woo works Sundays when they’re closed to customers. And he’s too meticulous to forget something as simple as turning the lights off. In-ho steps forward and peers through the glass.

But no one is there. The register is closed, the computer is off. There’s no sign of movement anywhere in the shop. 

Maybe Sang-woo stepped out. Or had to leave in a rush. But even then… he wouldn’t just leave the lights on. It’s not like him. He isn’t forgetful. It’s the entire reason Gi-hun trusts him to run the shop alone on Sundays. 

He lingers at the door, unease continuing to grow.

Still, he tells himself it’s probably nothing. And it’s not like he has to worry about it anymore after today.

In-ho lets out a slow breath before he reaches into his pocket and peels the key off the envelope. This will be the first time he’s ever had to use it to open the shop. The first, and the last time.

He slides it into the lock and turns. The door clicks open. 

The bell inside above him chimes softly as he steps inside. 

Warm air greets him, heavy with the scent of flowers and earth. A smell he’s gotten used to by now. A smell that, for a moment, brings him comfort. Smells like home. 

But the reality of why he’s here slams back into him.

His hand tightens around the envelope in his pocket. He moves forward slowly, placing it gently on the counter with the key on top of it before he takes a step back.

He’ll be long gone before anyone finds it.

Before Gi-hun reads it.

He lingers there for a long moment. Staring at the letter, staring at the cluttered mess of the counter. Over and over in his head, he tells himself to go, to turn around and leave. But his feet move on their own, carrying him a few steps forward. Just one last look, he reasons to himself. Just to really remember it.

His eyes drift around the room, taking in the clutter that was always there, no matter how hard In-ho tried to organize it. It always made this place feel more like a home than a shop. 

But the more he looks, the more it begins to feel…wrong.

His eyes drift back to the cluttered counter– to where he set the envelope. There’s something off about it. A pair of scissors tossed aside, ribbon spools left unspooled. Receipts sit together in piles. Some look organized, while others seem scattered across the surface. Almost like someone walked away mid-task.

Then, he looks further back. To the table. There’s trimmed stems and petals all over its surface. Some empty vases. A tipped over watering can. Twine that’s come unraveled and is spilling across the table onto the floor. It’s nothing too extreme. Just messy. Unorganized.

And Sang-woo is never messy. Too precise, almost obsessively so. He would never dare to leave the shop in such a disarray before leaving. 

Just like he wouldn’t forget to turn the lights off.

In-ho’s gaze flicks around the room again, taking in the quiet chaos of it all. None of this looks like Sang-woo was here today. No signs of his touch. No routine, no order.

It looks more like–

A cough cuts through the silence. Wet. Muffled. From the back room. His heart drops.

He isn’t alone. 

Gi-hun.

Panic curls tight in his stomach, and he moves without thinking. Desperate to get out. His legs carry him quickly to the front door and his hand hits the handle. He pushes it open, the chime loud in his ears as the cold night air rushes in around him. One foot outside.

But then–

A crash . 

Sharp, jarring. Like glass hitting tile and shattering across the floor. 

He freezes.

The sound echoes throughout the shop, then fades back into silence.

It’s just Gi-hun, he tells himself. He’s always knocking things over. Always so clumsy.  

That’s all it is.

But his stomach twists anyway, that uneasy feeling from earlier returning. 

He needs to leave. He should leave.

Because if he turns around now, he’ll see him. He’ll hear him. He’ll make this goodbye much harder than it already is– for the both of them. He knows that.

But In-ho stands there, unmoving for a beat too long. And that awful feeling won’t go away.

And before he thinks, he turns around. And practically sprints to the back room.

He hears a sound before his hand even touches the door– ragged and shallow. Like someone struggling for air. The sound stops him cold, panic flooding his chest. 

His hand wraps around the handle, and he shoves the door open. 

It takes him a moment to register what he’s seeing as he steps inside. The room is dim, and there’s a shattered vase on the floor. Water spreads in a thin puddle across the tile, ruined pink hydrangeas and white chrysanthemums laying limply in the shallow water.

There’s more petals, too. Pale pink, spread out across the floor like breadcrumbs.

His gaze barely lingers on them.

Because then– he sees him.

Gi-hun.

Collapsed in a heap in the corner of the room near the far wall. Curled in on himself, his face pale. His chest visibly struggles with every breath, each inhale wheezing out of him like air being dragged through a sealed door. His mouth is parted in desperate gasps, and all around his head are petals. 

Pale pink. Some tinted a dark red. Dozens of them. Surrounding his head like a halo.

In-ho’s blood runs cold.

He’s on the floor beside him in seconds. “Gi-hun– Gi-hun, hey –” his voice is ragged, panicked. “Gi-hun, what’s happening– what’s wrong?”

In-ho touches him, his hand reaching out for his shoulder. But as he makes contact, Gi-hun jolts like he’s been shocked, twisting violently to his stomach. Choking. Gagging on something like it won’t come up.

Then he coughs. 

Over and over again. Deep, racking, violent coughs. Gi-hun’s entire body seems to convulse with them. In-ho stays next to him, hand pressed to his back. Helpless and horrified. 

“Breathe Gi-hun– it’s okay. I’m here, I’ve got you–”

But it isn’t okay. Each cough tears petals out from Gi-hun’s throat, spilling onto the floor. Some stick to his lips, to his chin. 

Then– finally.

A full bloom. 

Multiple full blooms. 

Pink delicate flowers that match the petals. Wet with saliva, crumpled at the edges, some tinged with blood. 

They fall to the floor from Gi-hun’s mouth into the bed of petals below. In-ho stares at them with horror, his chest aching. 

He knows what they are. Recognizes the pinwheel shape, the soft edges.

Oleander.

Poisonous. Late stages. 

He feels sick.

Gi-hun suddenly moves underneath his hands, drawing his attention away from the flowers. He tries to sit up, arms trembling beneath him, his legs seemingly not cooperating with him. In-ho moves quickly, gently guiding him with both of his hands and a panicked whisper of his name.

“I have you– just breathe, I’m right here.”

He helps him sit up, propping him up on the wall behind him, careful as he does so. Gi-hun simply slumps there, weak and half-lucid. His head rolls slightly, then lifts. Then, for a second– a brief second– his eyes meet In-ho’s

Recognition flashes in them. Faint, but there. Like a flickering lightbulb.

“In…ho?” It’s barely more than a whisper, cracked and hoarse. Like he doesn’t believe what he’s seeing.

In-ho’s heart lurches in his chest. He leans in, nodding frantically. “Yes. Yes , Gi-hun, it’s me . I’ve got you– I’m going to help you,” his voice is low and urgent. “Please– just stay with me. Keep your eyes open, I’m right here, I’m not leaving–”

But Gi-hun’s gaze starts to glaze over again. His lids flutter, then slowly fall back shut as his body sags back against the wall, consciousness slipping from his face.

In-ho grabs at him instinctively, hand braced on his shoulder. “No , no – Gi-hun, please –” 

But he’s out. Still breathing, still there– but fading. 

In-ho fumbles for his own phone. One hand patting his coat pockets, while the other still stays on Gi-hun’s shoulder. But every pocket– empty. Nothing.

He left it. Left everything behind like an idiot. 

“Fuck,” he mutters, voice cracking. 

He turns back to Gi-hun, hands moving fast. His apron– there, surely in the front pocket. In-ho digs through it, shaking fingers pushing aside florist tape and crumpled receipts until finally they close around a familiar rectangular shape.

He pulls it free, nearly dropping it as he dials the emergency number with trembling fingers. 

It rings once. Twice.

Then a voice answers on the other end. 

“Please,” In-ho says, breathless. “There’s– there’s a man here. He’s unconscious, he’s not breathing right. There’s blood, there’s flowers–”

He swallows hard, his eyes fixed to Gi-hun’s pale face, his chest rising slow and shallow.

“He’s coughing up petals– flowers. Entire flowers. We need someone here now– he’s not responding he’s– he’s–”

In-ho’s voice breaks. He looks down at the oleander blooms, already wilting where they lay on the floor. 

And then he speaks again. Softer, quieter. Distant. Like he’s only just now realizing what he’s saying. 

“Hanahaki. He has Hanahaki .”

Chapter Text

Chapter 14: Hydrangeas, Pansies, Begonias

Gi-hun had initially been against the idea of hiring someone else to work in the shop. It had always been his shop. His work. He’d always had his friends to rely on– at least at first.

But things got busier. More orders, more customers. He hadn’t really expected the shop to take off in the way it did. And as helpful as his friends were, his shop wasn’t their priority. He needed an extra pair of hands around.

He can’t say he envisioned someone like In-ho taking the job. But he couldn’t complain. 

Gi-hun found himself surprised by In-ho more than anything. By how quickly they fell into step with one another. Six days was nothing– and yet, Gi-hun found himself looking forward to seeing him when he knew he would be in. In-ho had a quiet efficiency about him. He handled orders without a single complaint, even if he might have been a bit stiff. He didn’t talk much, but on a rare occasions, Gi-hun could catch the small curve of his mouth when something amused him. 

Gi-hun likes it. Likes the company. More than he probably should. 

He glances up, catching sight of In-ho at the counter. He was unboxing a fresh shipment of ribbon, organizing each of the spools by color on the counter. Something in the way he moves, in the way his brow furrows as he looks at each individual label before he sets them down methodically, precisely, it tugs at him unexpectedly. A strange fondness in his chest. 

And then, as In-ho straightens, Gi-hun suddenly remembers the small weight in his pocket. A key he had made a few days ago.

“Oh– I totally forgot,” Gi-hun says suddenly, setting his scissors aside. “I meant to give this to you yesterday.” 

He walks over, closing the distance between them and holds out a small brass key. 

In-ho blinks at it. Then stares at him. “What is that for?” 

“A key to the shop,” Gi-hun says, amused. “Just in case I’m running late, or if I overslept. Or if you forget something inside.”

In-ho gives him a look, hesitating briefly before reaching out for it slowly, as if he’s almost unsure if he should take it.

Gi-hun presses it gently into his palm, his fingers brushing against In-ho’s softly. His skin is warm, his hands rough. The contact only lasts a second, but something in his chest aches anyway, tight and familiar. 

He clears his throat a little too quickly, stepping back and pulling his hand away. “It’s just… y’know. Just in case you ever need it.” 

In-ho stares at the key for a long moment before looking back up at Gi-hun. There’s a glint of something in his eye, almost like concern. “You’re far too trusting to someone you’ve only known for six days,” he says, tone unreadable. 

Gi-hun shrugs, though he can feel his heart thumping faster than it should. “That’s six days of showing up on time, not complaining, and not stealing anything.”

That gets a small huff of breath from In-ho. Not quite a laugh, but something close to it. His fingers close around the key and he tucks it into his apron pocket before he returns to organizing the spools on the counter, opening another box. 

Gi-hun turns and walks back to the work table, rubbing his chest as he walks. The ache is still there, and he coughs hard into his hand as if to will it away, but it still lingers. Hardly noticeable, but still there. He shakes his head, trying to ignore it. 

As he gets back to work, something catches his eye as it drifts out of his sleeve. A single, round pink petal. 

He glances back at the orange tulips and sunflowers he works with now, making a face. It can’t be from this bouquet. He stares back at it before plucking it from the table and examining it close between his two fingers. 

Hydrangea. 

That only confuses him more. He hasn’t touched any today. And, as far as he remembers, they haven’t had a shipment of hydrangea in at least a few weeks. 

Gi-hun looks back over to In-ho who’s clicking through something on the computer at the front counter. “In-ho– you didn’t happen to use any hydrangea today, did you?”

In-ho looks up from the computer screen and furrows his brow, seeming puzzled. “Ah– sorry. Which… are those again?”

Gi-hun lets out a small laugh. “They’re small flowers– clustered tightly together in a ball shape. Their petals are kinda round.” 

In-ho frowns slightly before shaking his head. “No. I don’t think we even have any of those right now.” 

“Mm. Must have been stuck to something else then.” He flicks the petal off to the side, paying it no mind. “Weird.”

___________________________

But the petals keep showing up.

It’s easy to ignore at first. Gi-hun tracks in all sorts of things from the shop– crumpled leaves, stray stems– a few extra petals here and there don’t really stick out to him. 

But then it becomes consistent. And, weirdly enough, they only seem to show up on days that Gi-hun works with In-ho. 

Always pink. Always hydrangeas.  

He tries not to read into it. He told himself over and over that it was just a coincidence. That maybe he’s brushing against the flowers without realizing it. That he’s just paying more attention to them now after that first petal landed on his work table and gave him pause.

He even wonders– briefly, half laughing to himself– if someone was playing a trick on him. If In-ho was… planting them on him to mess with him. 

But In-ho didn’t seem like the type to do that.

Too reserved, too focused. Still stiff around the edges– though Gi-hun could finally start to see him softening. At least, around him. 

And yet– it persisted. Every day they worked together, Gi-hun would find the same petals. Stuck to his sleeve, some on the front of his shirt. Sometimes, he’d even wake up and find some next to him on his pillow, or tangled up in his mess of blankets. 

He always tries to come up with logical reasons, retracing his steps everyday in his mind. Maybe he leaned too close to the hydrangeas when picking stems of other flowers. Maybe some petals had got stuck in the vent and were dropping on him and he was too careless to notice. 

But his explanations always fell apart under closer thought. The petals were always too fresh, too intact. They appeared even when he knew he hadn’t been near hydrangeas at all. And how the hell were they showing up in his bed at night? None of it made sense. He just couldn’t seem to figure it out.

Until he eventually gets his answer. 

Outside the bar, watching as the taillights of a car disappear down the street. Gi-hun lingers on the curb for a long while, finishing his cigarette. His fingers run gently over the lighter In-ho had handed over to him. It isn’t anything special– plain and silver with scratches all over one side. But he holds it like it’s worth something anyway.

He exhales a stream of smoke into the air, his chest tightening in a way that has nothing to do with the nicotine. He thinks back over the day, about the forgotten wedding order. A stupid mistake– but In-ho never snapped at him, even though he was clearly frustrated. He never once made him feel small. He just helped. Calmly and efficiently. He was the reason they got finished in time– that they finished at all. 

Gi-hun shifts the lighter in his palm, staring down at it like it might explain the tight feeling in his chest.

In-ho’s cold, awkward demeanor is just a front. Gi-hun knew that all along.

Because Gi-hun sees right through it. Sees who he truly is, just underneath– in the quiet rhythm of their mornings together, in the way their light banter has started to creep into every shift, in the texts that come in late at night even on the days In-ho doesn’t work. Dry, but thoughtful. Like he’s still learning how to talk to someone new– to someone who cares.

A thought sinks in slowly, heavy in his chest. He likes him. Not just his company, not just the help around the shop– him. The realization lands hard in his mind, and his chest seizes, like his body is just catching up to the admission. 

And then he coughs, suddenly. Sharp, violently. He doubles over barely getting a hand over his mouth in time as his cigarette falls from his lips. It only lasts a few moments, but when he pulls his hand away from his face, his palm isn’t clean.

Soft, round, and pink petals cling to his skin. Hydrangea. 

For a beat, all he does is stare. 

Then everything clicks into place so fast that it nearly knocks the breath out of him. The petals, the ache in his chest. The way they only seemed to show up and get worse on days In-ho was near. It isn’t a coincidence, it isn’t some prank someone is pulling on him. It’s Hanahaki– flowers rooted deep inside of him. 

His heart pounds faster, the sound filling his ears as panic rushes through his veins. He runs a thumb over the petals in his hands before he quickly presses down on them, smearing pink across his skin.

His other hand grips the lighter tightly, so hard the edges bite into his skin. At the very least, he has his answer now. Even it was something he didn’t want to face.

___________________________

Ga-yeong sits cross-legged at the low table, her face furrowing in concentration as she drags a pink crayon across the paper in front of her. Her bouquet from earlier sits in front of her, now tucked safely in a clear vase. White daisies, light blue forget-me-nots, jasmines, and soft bright clusters of pink hydrangeas. 

Gi-hun lowers himself beside her, freshly brewed tea in hand, watching the steam curl up into the air. His gaze slowly drifts towards the flowers, to the pink clusters that stand out against all the rest. 

It’s almost funny. Out of all the flowers in the shop, somehow she had to pick the exact ones he’s tired of seeing. Tired of coughing up. But it’s not like she could have known.

His fingers tap idly against the mug in his hands, his fingernails clinking against the ceramic.

“Appa,” Ga-yeong says suddenly, pulling him out of his drifting thoughts. 

He blinks a few times before he turns his head towards her and smiles softly. “Hm?”

She’s looking up at him, a concerned look on her face. “Are you okay?”

“Ah. Yeah– sorry,” he says, leaning an elbow on the table. “I zoned out. You know me.”

Ga-yeong seems to study him for a beat before she goes back to her drawing. The room is quiet for a long moment, the only sound the gentle scratching of the crayon against paper. 

“I liked making a bouquet today,” she says finally after a moment.

“Oh yeah?”

“Mm-hm.” She picks up a blue crayon and starts dotting in the color of the forget-me-nots onto her picture. “I like Mr. Hwang. He was very nice. And helpful.”

Gi-hun’s mouth shifts into a soft and genuine smile. “Yeah? I’m glad you think so. I like him too.” He lifts his tea to his mouth, gently blowing on it before he takes a careful sip.

“Is he going to be my new stepdad?”

Gi-hun is mid-sip when she says it. The tea goes down wrong and he splutters into the cup, caught completely off guard by her words. He quickly sets the mug down before he drops it. “W-what? Where did that come from– why are you asking me that?”

She doesn’t even look up from her paper, completely unfazed by his reaction. “You said you liked him too. And you look at him like Eomma looks at my other stepdad.” 

Heat creeps up the back of Gi-hun’s neck. He reaches for his tea again just to have something to do with his hands before he awkwardly clears his throat. He shakes his head to help clear the heat off his face. “You’re… imagining things.”

Ga-yeong immediately looks up at him, tilting her head at him and frowning. “No I’m not!” 

He tries to scoff, but it comes out half formed and weak. “What, you think your old man’s got a crush or something?”

“Yes.” She says it so certainly, so matter-of-factly that it’s almost funny– except it isn’t because he feels so embarrassed being seen through so clearly by his own seven year old daughter.

Gi-hun exhales through his nose, rubbing the back of his neck almost sheepishly. “Alright, alright. Maybe I do. Just a little one, okay? That’s all it is.”

That answer seems to be enough to satisfy her. She turns back to her paper and continues scribbling with her crayons. Gi-hun lets out a sigh, relaxing a little. 

She takes after her mom, he thinks, watching her as she draws. Too observant for her own good.

As if sensing his eyes on her, she starts to speak again. “You should go on a date with him,” she says, glancing up for a moment before she returns to her work.

Gi-hun huffs out a small laugh, leaning back on his hands. “You make it sound so simple. Alright then, smart girl, what kind of date?”

She pauses, tapping a crayon against her chin as she thinks. “Mm. Maybe a dinner date? Like in those romance movies Eomma likes to watch.”

Gi-hun nods, his lips twitching upwards. “Ah. Of course. Fancy clothes, candlelight– all that?”

She nods in agreement. “You have to order steak, too. That’s what they always get.”

Gi-hun chuckles. “Steak huh? You’ve really got this all figured out.”

She grins at him, seemingly pleased with herself, before she goes back to scribbling on her paper. Gi-hun watches her for a long moment, the smile tugging at his lips settling into something warmer. He leans in closer to her. “Speaking of movies– why don’t we watch one tonight? Your pick.”

“Wait, wait, I’m almost done!” Her hand moves faster across the paper, filling in the last of the colors of the remaining flowers. After a moment, she sets the crayon down and holds her paper up with a flourish for Gi-hun to see.

“Wow,” Gi-hun says, brows lifting as he takes in the drawing of the bouquet. “That’s really good, sweetheart. You might put me out of a job with skills like that.” 

Her face lights up and she beams at him brightly. “You should take a picture and send it to Mr. Hwang– since he helped me make it.” 

Gi-hun laughs. “Oh yeah? You think he should see this?” 

“Uh-huh. Hurry, take a picture!” 

He pulls out his phone, smiling and shaking his head. He shifts over next to her, making sure that the phone catches them both in frame along with her drawing. He snaps a picture, them both grinning widely.

“Let me see!” Ga-yeong says, bouncing excitedly on her feet as she reaches for the phone.

Gi-hun hands it over and she studies the screen for a long moment with furrowed brow. Then she nods, seeming satisfied with it. “Yeah. Send that one. You look nice in it.”

He snorts at her. “Why does that matter?”

She doesn’t say anything to that– just simply grins mischievously at him as she gives him his phone back before she starts tugging his arm towards the living room.

They flop on the couch together, Gi-hun leaning back while Ga-yeong flips through the streaming menu with the remote. “Pick whatever you want, honey,” he says, pulling his phone out. “And I’ll order us some tteokbokki.”

Ga-yeong hums at him. “Eomma doesn’t like me having that too much.” 

Gi-hun looks around the room dramatically before he shrugs. “I don’t see her in here, do you?” 

That earns him a wide grin from her. 

Ga-yeong falls asleep halfway into the movie, curled up in the corner of the couch with her feet resting in Gi-hun’s lap. Her tteokbokki sits unfinished on the floor in front of her, the sauce darkening as it cools, the chopsticks still resting across the plate. 

There’s a knock at the door, and Gi-hun pauses the movie before gently moving Ga-yeong off his lap, careful to not wake her as he gets up. 

He opens the door to Eun-ji. Her gaze sweeps over him before it sweeps over the rest of the apartment behind him. It lands on the plate of tteokbokki immediately and she frowns. “You know that stuff isn’t good for her.”

Gi-hun sighs. “Having it every once in a while is fine. It won’t hurt her.” 

She makes a face at him, the kind of face that’s tired of having this exact same conversation after too many times before, but she doesn’t press. “Mm.”

Gi-hun steps aside, letting Eun-ji into the apartment. She moves past him quietly, her expression softening when she sees Ga-yeong fast asleep on the couch. 

She crosses the room, kneeling beside her sleeping form before she tucks a few stray hairs from her face. “Hey sweetheart,” she murmurs. “Time to go home.” 

Ga-yeong stirs with a soft hum, blinking blearily before sitting up slowly. She rubs her eyes, her movements still sluggish from sleep.

Gi-hun moves to crouch beside her, his voice light. “Want a piggy back to the car?” 

Her tiredness dissipates almost instantly, replaced by a sleepy but excited grin. She nods, and stretches her arms out to him. He hoists her up on his back easily, her small arms wrapping around his neck as he stands.  

Eun-ji follows them out of the apartment closely, opening the car door as they reach the curb. Gi-hun gently shifts Ga-yeong off his back and into the seat inside, making sure she’s buckled in safely. “Alright. Sleep tight, baby.” 

She smiles and gives him a lazy wave. “Bye Appa… and don’t forget to send the picture to Mr. Hwang.”

Gi-hun chuckles, leaning in to give her forehead a small kiss. “I won’t forget. Love you.”

He steps back from the car, giving Eun-ji enough room to close the door. When he glances up at her, she’s already looking at him with narrowed eyes. 

“...What’s that look for?” he asks, his tone nervous. 

“You and ‘Mr. Hwang’,” she says, straight to the point. “What’s that all about?”

“Oh, not you too,” he mutters, waving a hand at her dismissively. “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.” 

“I know you, Gi-hun,” she says, crossing her arms. “It’s definitely not nothing. But, for what it’s worth, he seems nice. Even if it is nothing.”

He swallows thickly, caught off guard by her comment. He doesn’t get a chance to say anything back, as she slides into the driver’s seat of the car.

“Goodnight, Gi-hun.”

“Yeah… night.”

He lifts a hand and waves as the car pulls away. He stands there watching until the taillights disappear down the street and around the corner.

Only then does he pull his phone out from his pocket, scrolling to the picture he took earlier. He attaches it to a message to In-ho.

Gi-hun [7:55 PM]: Thanks for watching the shop today. Ga-yeong wanted me to show you her art!

He attaches a pink flower emoji to the end of it before he hits send.

As he steps through the door of his apartment, his phone buzzes with a message. 

In-ho [7:56 PM]: It looks great. She takes after you. 

A second vibration follows almost immediately. 

In-ho [7:56 PM]: I was glad to take over for you. I hope you both had a great day. 

Gi-hun can’t help the smile that tugs at his mouth as he reads the messages. He starts to send a reply before he stops, coughing suddenly into his hand.

As he pulls his hand back, he expects to see the same pink hydrangea petals he’s been seeing for days. But instead, this time they are bigger. Yellow. 

Pansies. 

He stares at them for a long moment before he sighs. 

Maybe Ga-yeong was right. Maybe dinner isn’t a bad idea after all.

___________________________

The shop is unusually still this morning. No quiet shuffling at the counter, no quiet replies to his chatter. In-ho wasn’t in yet. Wouldn’t be in for a while. It was the first time he had asked for time off– and he’d only taken the morning. Though, Gi-hun couldn’t help but feel some relief. The quiet gave him some time to think. Some time to plan before In-ho came back later in the afternoon like he said he would.

He didn’t want to call it a date. Just… dinner. Something casual. Just ask In-ho if he would want to grab a bite to eat after work together. Simple. Harmless.

But every time he rehearses it in his head it sounds off. Too clumsy, too stiff. Too loaded. He used to know how to do this– at least, he thinks he did once upon a time. But now? Now he just feels ridiculous. Fumbling around like some teenager who’s never done something like this before. What if In-ho said no? Worse, what if he said yes?

He shakes his head, forcing himself to move on for now. He tugs open the fridge, ready to start pulling orders for the day when he suddenly freezes as he looks inside.

There, tucked inside on its own, standing out from the bouquets around it. Purple daisies, white chrysanthemums, heliotrope, and forget-me-nots. Not a bouquet he made– he’d remember one like this, the message strong and clear. This is for someone important. For someone loved and lost.

He reaches a hand out to it, turning it around to look for a card, for some sort of identification to who it might belong to. But there’s no name, no tag. Nothing.

Gi-hun furrows his brow. In-ho must have made it yesterday. But he wouldn’t be the type to forget to label it for a customer, no. Then maybe… it was for himself?

It would make sense. All he had said to Gi-hun about needing the morning off was that it was for personal reasons. And he hadn’t pushed for more information. Didn’t feel the need to. If In-ho had wanted to tell him more, then he would. And maybe him leaving this bouquet here in plain sight like this was his way of explanation. 

His fingers brush over petals softly, reverent. Lingering there, careful as if he might bruise them.

Nothing about this bouquet is careless. It wasn’t made for a stranger. It was made with memories, out of grief, out of love that still remains despite an absence.

Gi-hun exhales slowly, pulling his hand back. He shakes his head, realization settling inside him.

Here he is, fumbling around trying to find the right way to ask In-ho to share a meal with him, when In-ho is already dealing with the weight of whatever grief this day holds for him. What a fool he would be to try and shove his feelings at him whenever he already has enough on his mind.

It wouldn’t be right. Not today. 

Even despite the tickle in his chest, the constant reminder of petals being coughed into his hand each and every day– he knows better. He can wait a little longer. He has to. 

___________________________

Gi-hun sits behind the counter, his chin in one hand, his phone in his other, his screen lit with all his recent messages sent to In-ho. All still left unanswered. 

His thumb hovers over the keyboard as he rereads a message he tries to draft for the third time this morning. You okay? Did I do something? He groans under his breath, quickly backspacing everything. He can’t send something like that. Something sounding so pathetic, so desperate. 

He tries to reason with himself– In-ho had genuinely looked pale that day, had sounded extremely sick. And considering everything that had happened that day on top of that, it would make sense he wouldn’t be looking at his phone. Would be trying to take it easy before he eventually came back into work.

But even still, in the back of his mind, he can’t dismiss the nagging thought there. A quiet voice whispering over and over. What if it’s you? What if he figured it out– how you feel? What if this is the way he’s trying to step back?

Gi-hun’s stomach twists. In-ho always texted him back. It didn’t matter if it was something unimportant– he’d at least get a short reply, sometimes just a few words. But it was always something.

Without meaning to, he finds himself staring down blankly at the conversation thread again, the shop around him turning into a dull blur. Until suddenly, a sharp sound pulls him back– someone clearing their throat right in front of him.

He startles, looking up and blinking at the man in front of him on the other side of the counter. He didn’t even hear the door open. The man didn’t look like a customer– but something about him seems familiar to Gi-hun, though he can’t quite place it. 

“Ah– sorry,” Gi-hun says, sounding sheepish. He quickly straightens and smiles softly as he slips back into customer service mode. “Did you need something? Anything I can help you with?” 

He shifts, looking past Gi-hun for a moment as though trying to see into the back room, before his gaze falls back onto Gi-hun before he starts to speak. “I’m… actually looking for Hwang In-ho. He usually works today, right?”

Gi-hun frowns, shaking his head. “He usually does– but he’s been sick. He’s taken some time off to recover.”

The man’s expression flickers for just a moment– something quick across his features, unreadable. But Gi-hun has seen the same expression before– has seen In-ho make the same one many times. And he places him. He’s seen this man once before, outside the shop in a car. Waiting for In-ho.

“You’re…” Gi-hun hesitates for a moment, squinting at him as recognition clicks into place. “You’re his brother, aren’t you?”

The man’s eyes widen a bit, then soften immediately. “Yes. I am.” A beat. Then his hand extends across the counter. “Jun-ho. Hwang Jun-ho.” 

Gi-hun reaches across too, taking his hand and shaking it firmly. “Seong Gi-hun.”

Jun-ho’s grip lingers for a moment before he gives a small nod as he lets go. “Do you two normally work together?” 

Gi-hun nods. “Yeah. I’m also the owner too, but needed some extra help around the place. Having In-ho around has been great.” 

Jun-ho gives a small smile. “That’s…good to hear. I never imagined him working in a place like this before, but he seems to enjoy it.” 

Gi-hun laughs softly. “He definitely does, though I don’t think he’d ever admit it out loud. You should see him when he arranges pieces, though,” he pauses, shaking his head with a small grin. “He gets so focused about it. He’s so precise. Sometimes it’s like he’s overthinking every little thing but it always turns out nice in the end. I think because he cares so much about it.”

Jun-ho studies him quietly. Gi-hun catches a glint of something like amusement in his eyes, but it’s gone before he can think anything of it.

“And,” Gi-hun continues, leaning against the counter, “he’s reliable. Really dependable. He’s only been here for a few months now and I really don’t know how I ever functioned without him, if I’m being honest. The shop feels different now, you know? Better.”

The words slip out of him without much thought, warmth spilling into each and every syllable. He quickly clears his throat and scratches the back of his neck as he remembers who he’s talking to. “I just– I mean, he’s a hard worker is all.”

Jun-ho hums in response, though his eyes are sharp as they focus on him. “It sounds like you think very highly of him.”

“Of course I do,” Gi-hun says, perhaps a bit too quickly. He straightens before he brushes some stray hairs out of his face as he looks away from Jun-ho, embarrassment creeping up his neck. “I mean who wouldn’t? He’s… he’s a good guy. I just want him to be alright.”

Jun-ho tilts his head studying him. He says nothing

Gi-hun huffs out a little laugh, feeling a little awkward under his gaze. He clears his throat and then leans back, crossing his arms. “I’m honestly surprised he didn’t tell you he was sick.” 

Jun-ho lets out a small laugh, shaking his head. “He’s terrible at texting. Hates it. You’d be lucky to get a reply out of him the same week you sent the message.” 

Gi-hun blinks at him, brows furrowing. “That’s… weird.”

Jun-ho tilts his head at him. “Weird?”

Gi-hun scratches at the back of his neck and looks away. “Yeah. He always replies back to me. Pretty quickly too. When I text him he usually… you know, answers.”

Jun-ho’s expression changes– a flicker of surprise, confusion, then that same amusement from before. A smile seems to tug at the corners of his mouth. “...Does he now?” 

Gi-hun feels his face flush, and he looks away before he continues.  “Usually– but lately, he hasn’t texted me back. I haven’t heard from him in a bit. Not since the other day, last week, when he left feeling sick. He told me he needed the week off, which is fine! But knowing he’s not feeling well… not hearing from him at all makes me worry.” 

Jun-ho’s expression quickly sobers, his brow creasing slightly in worry for just a moment before he shakes his head slightly. “It’s not the first time he’s done something like this. Going off the grid I mean. I wouldn’t worry too much.”

Gi-hun lets out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, some of the tension in his chest easing. If Jun-ho says it isn’t unusual, then maybe he’s been worrying for nothing. Still, the worry doesn’t leave his face, the knot in his chest still remaining tight. 

Jun-ho seems to notice. His gaze flicks to the counter before landing on a stack of unorganized old receipts. He reaches out to one of them, gently tapping it. “Can I borrow this?”

Gi-hun blinks at him. “Um– yeah that’s fine.” 

Jun-ho slides the paper over to his side as he plucks a pen from the cup nearby. He bends over the counter, scribbling something down on the paper before he slides it back over to Gi-hun. “My number,” he says, tapping the paper. “I’ll text and call him later– I’ll let you know if I get a response back from him. Just text me so I can have yours.”

Gi-hun looks down at the paper for a brief moment before he takes it and nods. “That’s kind of you,” he says, the knot in his chest loosening more. “...Thank you.” 

Jun-ho gives him a small smile. “Of course. I know how difficult he can be. It’s nice to know I’m not the only one worrying about him for once.” 

Gi-hun nods, slipping the receipt into his apron pocket. “Then…I’ll text you later. So you’ll have my number.” 

“Good.” There’s a beat of silence, before Jun-ho steps back from the counter. “I’ll let you know the second I hear from him,” he says, stepping towards the door. 

Gi-hun nods, giving him a crooked smile as he watches him step out the door and walk down the sidewalk out of view.

___________________________

Gi-hun [11:36 AM]: Sorry to bother you. In-ho just hasn’t shown up to work today…

Gi-hun [11:37 AM]: This just isn’t like him at all. I’m really worried. Has he reached out to you at all?

Jun-ho: [11:40 AM]: He’s not in and he didn’t let you know? 

Jun-ho [11:41 AM]: No he hasn’t. Let me see if I can get a hold of him. 

Jun-ho [12:05 PM]: I called and texted. Still nothing. 

Gi-hun [12:07 PM]: Is there anything I can do to help? 

Jun-ho [12:10 PM]: Just let me know again if he isn’t in again tomorrow. I’m going to keep trying to get a hold of him.

Gi-hun [12:11 PM]: Okay…

___________________________

Gi-hun [7:50 AM]: He isn’t in again. He’s usually here by now…

Jun-ho [7:58 AM]: Contacting him.

Jun-ho [11:55 AM] Still nothing. 

Jun-ho [12:01 PM]: Text me again if he doesn’t show tomorrow. I’ll go over to his place and see what the hell is going on. 

Gi-hun [12:05 PM]: I can come too. I can have someone else open. 

Jun-ho [12:15 PM]: I don’t know if that’s a good idea. I don’t want to overwhelm him when he’s like this. Let me handle it okay? I’ll make sure he contacts you by the end of the day.

Gi-hun [12:21 PM]: Okay…

Gi-hun [12:23 PM]: If that’s what you think is best. 

___________________________

Gi-hun [7:55 AM]: He isn’t here again. Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you? 

Jun-ho [8:01 AM]: Already at his place.

___________________________

Gi-hun [10:13 AM]: Did your brother stop by? He told me he was doing that this morning…

In-ho [10:16 AM]: Yes. He did.

In-ho [10:17 AM]: I’m sorry. For missing work. And for not replying.

Gi-hun [10:17 AM]: Don’t even worry about it! I’m just glad to even see a text from you. And that you’re alright. 

Gi-hun [10:17 AM]: Are you busy? Like in the next few days. I wanted to come by with your brother, but he didn’t think it was a good idea. I’d like to see you, make sure you’re okay. You really scared me, I won’t lie.

In-ho [10:20 AM]: Where do you want to meet?

Gi-hun [10:22 AM]: There’s a cafe that just opened up nearby the shop. Would you want to meet there? I’ve heard it’s good.

Gi-hun [10:26 AM]: But if you don’t like coffee, we can pick somewhere else. You just tell me, and I’ll meet you…

In-ho [10:30 AM]: Coffee is fine. Is Sunday morning okay?

Gi-hun [10:31 AM]: Yes! I’ll be there!

___________________________

The walk home from the coffee shop feels longer than it should. Gi-hun’s hands are in his pockets, his head bent down as he replays the last hour in his mind over and over again.

He had gone in with a plan– though it was half-baked and more desperate then fully thought out. But a plan nonetheless. He had been prepared for anything– rejection, awkwardness, the possibility of losing In-ho all together. 

He had not been prepared for In-ho to speak first, to open up to him. To talk about his wife. About her death. About their child he never even got to meet. 

That image of In-ho still sits heavy in his mind. Him sitting across from him, finally cracking that last impenetrable wall. His voice had been steady– almost too steady. But his eyes… they carried years of grief. 

Gi-hun sighs, shaking his head as he rounds the final corner to his street. This wasn’t a good time for feelings. Not while In-ho is still carrying that weight. Not when he finally trusts Gi-hun enough to share something so vulnerable and painful to him. It makes him feel selfish for even considering confessing today at all.

Still, though. There’s a tiny flicker of hope in his chest. In-ho had agreed to come back to the shop. He was not expecting that, especially after all they spoke about. It feels like a small victory.

His phone buzzes in his pocket as he reaches his front door. He pulls it from his pocket, half expecting a text from In-ho. Instead, a message from Sang-woo stares back at him.

Sang-woo [11:04 AM]: How’d it go?

Gi-hun exhales, his thumb hovers the screen for a moment before he starts to type back. 

Gi-hun [11:05 AM]: Good. Better than I thought…

Gi-hun [11:06 AM]: He said he’ll come back to work, too.

The typing dots appear almost instantly.

Sang-woo [11:07 AM]: Good. Now you don’t have to keep worrying yourself sick.

Sang-woo [11:08 AM:] Do you want to meet after work at the bar? Just the two of us. Like old times.

Gi-hun stares at the message for a moment, his brows furrowing. 

It’s been years since they’ve done that. Usually, it was a group thing. But back when Gi-hun had first opened the shop, before he had befriended everyone working at the bakery, it would just be them two. On occasion, Jung-bae would tag along. But for the most part, meeting at the bar had been something between them. A ritual between two old friends. 

He wonders, for a moment, what Sang-woo wants to talk about. It makes his chest stir, though not with unease. Something more like curiosity. His fingers tap against the screen.

Gi-hun [11:10 AM]: Sure. Sounds good.

Maybe that’s what he needs right now. Familiarity. Sharing a drink with someone who’s known him almost his entire life. 

By the time evening rolls around, Gi-hun feels something almost like relief. A chance to step out for a moment, away from his own thoughts. He reaches the bar in almost record time.

Through the window, Gi-hun sees Sang-woo already inside, sitting at their usual table. One hand is curled around a glass, while his other hand is drumming idly against the wood of the table, his face blank like he’s lost in thought. 

Sang-woo glances up as Gi-hun steps inside and their eyes meet, Sang-woo straightens subtly, his hand stilling against the table as Gi-hun approaches him and takes a seat directly across from him. 

“You beat me here,” Gi-hun says, giving Sang-woo a small smile. 

“There wasn’t much to do today in the shop. I closed a little earlier,” Sang-woo replies, flagging down the nearby server. “Your usual?”

“Yeah,” Gi-hun nods. “Thanks.”

They settle in, the server bringing their drinks not too long after. Conversation is easy between them– work talk, complaining about bills, trading old jokes that should have stopped being funny a long time ago. It really does feel like old times. Like nothing has changed.

But then, Sang-woo leans back in his seat. He studies Gi-hun with one of his unreadable but knowing looks. “So,” he starts, his voice casual. “How’s In-ho?” 

Gi-hun stills, glass halfway to his lips. “He’s… he’s better. He looks okay. I was surprised when he said he’d come back, honestly. But really glad he decided to.” 

“That’s good. He keeps the place up better than you ever do. You need that,” Sang-woo states, taking a long sip from his drink. Gi-hun scoffs at him, but says nothing in response. He knows he’s right. 

“You two are pretty close,” Sang-woo says after a beat, setting down his glass. His eyes are sharp as they stare at him. “A lot closer than I would have expected.”

Gi-hun forces out a laugh, waving his hand as he looks away. “Close? I mean– I guess. He’s my friend. I just want to make sure he’s okay, y’know? Like I would all my friends. I worry. You know me.” 

Sang-woo hums. “I do know you. And you’ve never lost sleep over me taking off time from work. Or walked me home from the cafe.” 

Gi-hun shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “Come on Sang-woo, it’s not like that. He wasn’t responding and I was worried. That’s all. I’d do the same for you, and you know that.” 

Sang-woo raises a brow at him, a smile tugging at his lips. “Would you? Because it seems to me like In-ho gets a kind of attention from you that no one else does.”

Gi-hun’s throat tightens. He tries to clear it as his hands fidget with his empty glass on the table. “You’re imagining things. I just care– he’s been through a lot and I don’t want him to think he’s alone. 

Sang-woo doesn’t look convinced. His gaze locks on Gi-hun, unrelenting, and Gi-hun squirms underneath it.

He opens his mouth to deflect again, to move the conversation to something else, but as he does a cough tears its way out of his throat, sudden and violent. His hand flies up to his mouth just in time, but he can feel the petals as they spill out into his hand, soft and damp. His fingers curl around them quickly, desperately, trying to seem as nonchalant as possible.

His gaze lifts for a brief moment, his eyes meeting Sang-woo’s. He tries to keep his expression casual, but it’s too late. Sang-woo’s eyes are already watching him closely and he sees him fit the pieces together. His hand darts across the table, his grip iron-tight around Gi-hun’s wrist before he has a chance to shove it underneath the table out of sight.

“Sang-woo–” Gi-hun tries, his voice tight with panic. 

“Open your hand.” 

Gi-hun shakes his head. Sang-woo’s grip tightens.

“Now, Gi-hun.” His tone is warning. 

Gi-hun hesitates for a beat longer, before he slowly opens his hand. Yellow and pink petals spill into view, damp and crushed from the force of his grip. There are new ones, too. White amongst the brighter colors.

The silence that follows their reveal is suffocating.  Sang-woo’s grip stays firm on his wrist as he stares down at them. Shock flashes in his eyes, but then it quickly morphes into something more stern. More angry. 

Gi-hun swallows, averting his gaze away as shame crawls up his neck and onto his face.

“How long?” Sang-woo asks, his voice almost too quiet. 

Gi-hun considers not answering for a moment, but the look Sang-woo gives him is sharp and angry. But underneath, there’s something else threaded through it. Concern. 

He sighs, tugging his wrist free. “A few months.” 

Sang-woo’s expression hardens. “It’s In-ho.” 

Gi-hun doesn’t answer. He doesn’t have to. 

Sang-woo exhales slowly through his nose. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“And worry you? I’m fine, Sang-woo.”

“Fine? This is fine to you?” Sang-woo jabs a finger at the petals scattered across the table. His voice cracks with exasperation. “You’re not fine!” 

“You’re overreacting–”

“Overreacting? How can you even say that, huh? After everything that’s happened to me?” His voice rises, sounding desperate. “Why wouldn’t you tell me? Why would you try to hide this? If anyone would understand, it’s me.”

Gi-hun lets out a bitter laugh, low and sharp. “Yeah? Just like you told me when it was you and Ali?”

Sang-woo goes rigid, his mouth snapping shut.

Gi-hun presses on, his voice quieter now, but his tone still cutting. “Don’t act like you have the high ground here.”

For a moment, neither of them speak. Sang-woo’s jaw tightens visibly, and for a fleeting second something flashes across his face. Something like guilt, but it quickly gives way to anger. His fingers curl into a fist on the table.

Finally, Sang-woo leans forward, his voice low and taut with anger. “You have to confess to him. You’re more likely to survive the sooner you do it. Even if he rejects you, at least you tried and there’s no reason to delay the treatment any longer after that.” 

Gi-hun sighs, gripping the edge of the table until his knuckles ache and begin to turn white. “I know.” 

“Then why haven’t you?”

Gi-hun’s irritation flares. “Because it’s not that simple, Sang-woo. You don’t know him. You don’t know what he’s been through.”

Sang-woo lets out a dry and humorless laugh. “Do you hear yourself? You sound like a teenager. Lovesick and stupid– coming up with any excuse instead of doing the one obvious thing. He clearly cares about you too, and you’re too stubborn to see it.”

Gi-hun’s jaw tightens. “You don’t know that. You don’t know anything. I’m a grown man, Sang-woo. I can fucking handle this myself. I don’t need you meddling and making things worse. I’ll– I’ll figure it out, okay? I’m not stupid.”

“Meddling?” Sang-woo’s voice whips back at him, raw and furious. “That’s what you think I’m doing? Then fine, I’ll meddle. It would have been nice if you would have meddled back then. Had paid attention to anything going on, had tried to be there for me when I needed you the most.”

Gi-hun stares at him, stunned. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means I wanted to tell you,” Sang-woo hisses. “I wanted to confide in you, in my closest friend. But you were too far up your own ass, gambling your entire life away to even notice–”

“Oh, fuck you,” Gi-hun snaps, hands slamming against the wood of the table. Some people in the bar go silent, glancing over at them. Gi-hun ignores them. “Who found you, huh? Who drove you to the hospital? I might have been a mess, but I was still there for you. I didn’t leave your side until I knew you were going to be okay. Don’t you dare pretend otherwise, Sang-woo.”

Sang-woo recoils from that like he’s been slapped. His lips part like he wants to say something, but they shut quickly, pressing into a thin line.The anger in Sang-woo’s face twists into something wearier, something heavier. His voice drops low, trembling, sounding exhausted.

“Maybe I just don’t want you to make the same mistake I did, hyung.”

Gi-hun swallows hard, his hot anger cooling into a stubborn ache that sits heavy in his chest. “It’s different. In-ho isn’t like Ali. This isn’t the same. I’ll figure it out.”

Sang-woo’s eye twitches. A scowl twists across his features. For a moment, he looks like he might say something else, to keep tearing into him. But instead, he suddenly stands. The legs of his chair scrape against the floor loudly, and he pulls his wallet out and tosses a handful of bills on the table. His jaw clenches, his hands tremble. He doesn’t look at Gi-hun as he turns away from him and leaves. 

Gi-hun stares after him for a long moment. His heart pounds loudly in his ears as he watches the door swing shut. Slowly, he drops his head into his hands, dragging them across his face as he takes in a shuddering breath.

___________________________

The next few weeks back are surprisingly easy– at least, during the day. In-ho being back at the shop steadies Gi-hun – makes things manageable again. Their rhythm is back, their quiet banter, their comfortable silences– all of it not leaving any room for his mind to wander. His coughing stays at bay for the most part, tucked inside his chest deep like it knows better than to interrupt.

But when he’s alone, it’s different. Nights after work with In-ho are usually the hardest. The moment he locks his apartment door behind him, it starts. A tickle in his throat that’s insistent until he’s hacking up petals from his throat, pink and yellow scattering across his floor, his sink, his sheets.

Tonight is no different for him. He leaves the shop with the weight already heavy in his chest from the day. From Sang-woo’s interference, and the anxiety of the upcoming New Year’s party. And knowing that In-ho will be there, along with everyone else. The cough begins to scratch at his throat as he reaches his street. He pauses, bracing himself.

But then he looks up.

Sang-woo stands nearby, next to his apartment door. Waiting, his arms crossed as a scowl paints his features. 

Gi-hun stops in his tracks, the cough forgotten as he pushes it down. He frowns. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he mutters, hand digging in his pocket to pull out his keys. 

Sang-woo looks up at him, his gaze pointed. “We need to talk.”

“Maybe I don’t want to talk to you,” Gi-hun mutters back at him. He brushes right past him, jamming his key into the lock and forcing the door open. He steps inside, and Sang-woo is hot on his heels behind him. He debates on pushing him out but quickly decides against it. Instead, he turns around to face him. “What do you want, Sang-woo?” 

Sang-woo’s expression is tight with irritation. “Why didn’t you invite In-ho?”

Gi-hun exhales hard. “I was going to Sang-woo– you didn’t even give me a damn chance–”

“The party is in a few days, Gi-hun. And you hadn’t invited him yet– you expect me to believe that?” Sang-woo exclaims, stepping forward. “What were you planning to do, huh? Continue to avoid him like you’ve been doing?” 

“Avoid him? How the hell am I avoiding him when I work with him Sang-woo– do you hear yourself?”

“You don’t come to the bar on Fridays with him anymore. You haven’t been in weeks,” Sang-woo throws his hands up in exasperation. “What am I supposed to think?” 

“That’s not–” Gi-hun runs a hand down his face, sighing. “I was going to. I swear to you I was going to. But I wasn’t even sure I was going to go myself!” The words come out louder than he intends, echoing in the small space of the apartment. “I just thought–” He cuts himself off, frustrated. He paces back and forth in front of Sang-woo for a few moments before he finally stops and spins to face him. “I thought I might ask him to do something else. Something that could have just been me and him, okay? So he wouldn’t have the pressure of other people. But then you came butting in and didn’t even give me a chance.” He points a finger at Sang-woo, jabbing it in his chest. “You just came in, and decided for me!” 

Sang-woo’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t snap back right away like Gi-hun expects him to. He just stares for a long moment, his eyes narrowing. Then, voice even, he speaks. “You can still do that.”

Gi-hun blinks at him. “...What do you mean?”

“Just do something with him before the party. It’s not until later anyway. Confess then.”

Gi-hun’s chest tightens. Heat rushes up his neck. “You make it sound so fucking easy.”

“It is easy,” Sang-woo shoots back. “Or it could be, if you would just stop dancing around it like a coward.” 

“I’m not–” Gi-hun falters for a moment, his throat tight. He swallows hard. “You don’t get it. You think this is about me being scared but it's not. You meddle, Sang-woo. You always meddle and you never think about what it does to people–”

A sudden sharp knock at the door cuts him off. Both men freeze. Caught off guard. After a beat of silence, the knock comes again, louder this time. Gi-hun sighs, deflating. He pinches the bridge of his nose as he pushes past Sang-woo to open the door behind him. 

When it opens, Eun-ji is standing there, bundled in a coat against the winter chill. She looks between the two men for a moment, before her brow furrows in concern. “Sorry– am I interrupting something?” 

Before Gi-hun can get a word out, Sang-woo straightens. “I was just leaving, actually,” he says lowly, brushing past Gi-hun and giving Eun-ji a small nod before he walks out of view. 

Gi-hun lingers for a second in the doorway, looking past Eun-ji before she quietly clears her throat. He shakes his head, and steps aside, gesturing for her to come in. “Come on,” he says, forcing a tight smile to his face. “It’s freezing out there.” On instinct, as Eun-ji comes inside, he finds his eyes darting behind her, searching outside. He frowns when he realizes Ga-yeong isn’t with her. 

“She’s at home,” Eun-ji says softly, slipping off her scarf. “It’s late. And it’s a school night.” 

“Right. Yeah, of course. I knew that.” He shuts the door with a soft thud, rubbing at the back of his neck. “So what’s going on? What’s with the late hour? Is everything okay?”

She settles on the edge of the couch nearby, not bothering to take her coat off. “I won’t stay long. I just… wanted to talk. In person.” 

Gi-hun sits opposite of her, leaning his elbows on his knees. “Sure, okay. What’s on your mind?” 

She hesitates for a moment, her hand smoothing the fabric of her scarf with a thumb. “...Ga-yeong’s doing well. She got the highest grade in her class on her math exam last week.” 

His face softens and he smiles. “Did she? That’s really good. I’ll have to get her something. Maybe something sweet from the bakery. She likes those strawberry tarts Ali makes.”

Eun-ji smiles faintly. “She’d like that.” 

Silence settles between the two of them, heavy. Gi-hun waits, sensing Eun-ji has more to say. Eun-ji’s fingers tug at the edge of her jacket, smoothing it flat before she twists it again. Betraying her nerves that don’t match the calm expression she tries to keep.

Finally, she takes a heavy breath. “We’re…moving.”

“...Moving?” Gi-hun’s voice cracks. “What do you mean moving?”

“To… America,” Eun-ji says evenly. “Los Angeles. It’s a good opportunity. For all of us.” 

“For all of you?” Gi-hun forces the words out, his throat tight. “Taking my daughter halfway across the world– away from me, her father– that’s good for her?” 

“Gi-hun, it’s not like that–”

“The hell it isn’t!” He leans forward, his voice rising. “You can’t just take her away from me. Not now. Not after everything I’ve done.” He drags a hand through his hair. “I’ve been trying so hard, Eun-ji. These past few years– all my debts are gone. And the shop does good, all things considered. And yet, I barely get to see her. And now you want to take her away for good?”

“I’m not trying to take her away from you, Gi-hun,” she says quickly, her calm beginning to slip. “She could come in the summer. Or you could visit her–”

“Visit her?” Gi-hun barks out a laugh. “With what money? You think I could afford a trip there and back? You think I’m okay with only seeing her, what, two months out of the year? That’s not being her father. That’s like–” his voice breaks off, shaking. “That’s like being… a stranger.” 

Eun-ji sits quietly for a moment, before she looks away from him. “It’s already settled, Gi-hun. We move after the new year. There’s nothing more to say.”

Gi-hun stares at her for a long moment, his hands gripping his knees tightly. For a long, heavy beat, he says nothing. He only focuses on the loud pounding in his ears until finally his mouth starts to move before he can think it through. “I could fight you on this.”

Eun-ji’s gaze snaps back to him, sharp. “And what? Drag her through hell? Make her watch us tear each other apart again, like the divorce all over?”

Gi-hun recoils like he’s been slapped. He tries not to think of it, but Ga-yeong’s face comes to his mind. Full of tears, her little hands clutching at her the fabric of her mother’s pants. The way her face would scrunch up as she would sob, begging them both to stop fighting. For things to go back the way they used to be. She was too young to understand, and the toll it had taken on her still haunts him. He hates that he ever had to put her through that.

He drags a hand down his face, tears pricking at the edge of his eyes. He suddenly feels exhausted. “I just can’t compete with him. With his job, with his money. Even with the shop… it’s nothing. I make just enough to scrape by. You know that.” He exhales a long breath. “Even if I tried to fight you– it wouldn’t matter. It would be for nothing. I wouldn’t win. And what kind of father would I be to do that to her again?”

Eun-ji’s lips part like she wants to say something, but nothing comes out. No answer. The silence stretches long and heavy between them.

After a beat, Gi-hun’s shoulders slump in defeat. “Go,” he says, just barely above a whisper. “Just… go.” 

Eun-ji stands, lingering for a moment. She searches his face, like she’s trying to find something in it. Whatever she sees makes her sigh instead, and she heads to the door and leaves without another word. Leaving Gi-hun alone in silence. 

He sits frozen, staring blankly at the empty space across from him before he finally brings his hands over his face. He doesn’t move, his mind empty. Only the faint taste of flowers lingers in his mouth, in his throat, always there and threatening to spill over. 

___________________________

Gi-hun [5:46 PM]: What are you doing right now?

Jung-bae [5:47 PM]: nothing. what’s up?

Gi-hun [5:47 PM]: Need to talk to you. Where are you?

Jung-bae [5:49 PM]: at home. why? where are you?

Gi-hun [6:00 PM]: Bar… long story. I’ll call you.

___________________________

Gi-hun can do nothing but watch the bakery door as it swings shut behind In-ho. His stomach drops, his head spins. 

“No–” he pushes himself up from his chair, nearly toppling it as he stumbles forward trying to follow after him. But he’s too uncoordinated, the world too tilted with the alcohol still fogging his head as he just barely catches himself before he topples over. “In-ho,” his voice is hoarse. “Wait– hold on–”

He pushes himself forward, but he doesn’t even make it to the doorframe before his body betrays him. A sharp spasm in his chest that comes up and into his throat, choking him. He doubles over, coughing and gagging, the bitter taste of acid in his mouth.

Strong hands grab him suddenly, steadying him. “Gi-hun,” Sang-woo’s voice cuts through the loud pounding in his ears, low and calm. “Not here. Come on.”

Gi-hun lets himself be guided, the room blurring around him as Sang-woo half pulls, half drags him to the cramped bathroom in the back of the bakery. His knees hit the tile floor before he can even register he’s in there, his head over the toilet before he can fight it.

The coughs wrack through him, quickly turning to gags, wet and violent. The taste of alcohol fills his mouth, along with the taste of something else. Something floral, familiar.

He gags again, petals scraping his throat as they come up. Petals quickly turn into full blooms. Pink hydrangea. Yellow pansies. Damp and ruined, wilting in the water.

“Breathe,” Sang-woo says softly. His hand is steady on Gi-hun’s shoulder, the other pulling hair away from his sweaty face. “You’re okay. Just let it out.” 

Gi-hun gags again, harder this time. He makes a low cry as something forces its way up his already raw throat. White petals spill from his mouth, until finally a full bloom crawls its way out. 

A white begonia. The edges stained red– blood. 

He stares at it for a long moment, his body shaking with the reality of his situation. His third flower. His mouth tastes of sour liquor and flowers, unbearable.

Tears blur his vision, his knuckles turning white from how hard he grips the rim of the toilet. His shoulders violently tremble. “Fuck– fuck. I can’t–”

Sang-woo says nothing. Doesn’t scold him. Doesn’t yell at him like he did when he came in late to the bakery. He just softly rubs circles into his back between his shoulder blades, silent other than the sound of his own breathing. 

And Gi-hun cries– no, sobs– his forehead hitting the porcelain. The sound is raw and ugly, spilling out of him in uneven gasps. His mind races. You waited too long. You’re so pathetic. You ruined everything. His body aches with how hard he shakes.

He feels like an idiot, crying like this while Sang-woo stands there next to him in silence. He can’t stop replaying every moment he almost said something, every chance he let slip away. His shoulders hitch violently as another sob tears out of his throat, and still Sang-woo stays next to him, never tells him to pull it together. Just keeps a steady hand on his back, a quiet anchor as GI-hun falls apart. 

Eventually, he turns his head towards Sang-woo, his vision wet and unfocused. “I… I was gonna tell him,” he slurs, the words coming out before he can stop them. His face pulls tight into a grimace, tears streaking down his face. “Tonight I was. I swear I was.”

Sang-woo’s hand stills for a moment on his back, just for a second, before starting again. The same slow, steady circles. He continues to say nothing.

Gi-hun forces out a laugh, but it comes out half choked and wrecked. “Now he hates me,” he whispers, his voice sounding broken. Sang-woo hums at him.

“He doesn’t hate you, Gi-hun.”

“He ran away. From me. I’m such an idiot–”

“Stop it, Gi-hun. Don’t do that to yourself right now.” Sang-woo shifts beside him, crouching down, his hand remaining at his back keeping the same rhythm.

He barely remembers Sang-woo hauling him to his feet, his arm slung over a steady shoulder as they leave the bathroom together. He doesn’t catch what anyone says to him, or what he might say back to them as he and Sang-woo leave the bakery to get inside a warm car he must have called when Gi-hun was hunched over the toilet.

The ride smears together. All lights and sound. He doesn’t live far, but the ride seems to take hours. Until finally, Sang-woo is pulling him out and getting him through his apartment door and onto his nearby couch, which he collapses into. His body feels heavy, useless. His throat hurts.

Sang-woo crouches in front of him after a moment, pressing a glass of water in his hand. “Drink,” he commands, though his voice is soft. 

Gi-hun brings it to his lips and takes a long drink. He hands it back to Sang-woo who takes it from him, setting it on the nearby table. Without a word, he crosses the room and quickly returns with a blanket in hand. He drapes it around Gi-hun’s slumped form.

“She’s… she’s taking her,” Gi-hun suddenly blurts, his voice thick. “Eun-ji. That day she came over. She told me they’re moving. That she’s taking Ga-yeong to America, Sang-woo.” He takes in a sharp breath. “She said I could visit. Like I got the money for that.”

Sang-woo sits back on his heels, watching him with an unreadable expression.

Gi-hun presses his hands to his eyes so hard that color sparks behind them. “She was so little when we split. You remember? It was so hard for her. It… it wrecked her. I can’t put her through that again, drag her through the courts like that. I don’t even know if I’d win.” 

The room spins but he couldn’t stop. Words continue to flow out of him. “And I ruined things with In-ho too. Just like I always do. I got too drunk, like an idiot. I couldn’t keep my stupid hands off him, made him so uncomfortable. And to top it all off, I spilled beer all over him. Fuck. Fuck.” He laughs but it comes out more like a sob. “He’ll never look at me the way I want him to. I had it all planned tonight. But I blew it. I always blow it.”

“Gi-hun,” Sang-woo’s voice is firm.

Gi-hun lifts his head to look at him, his eyes glassy. “What?”

He shakes his head at him, slowly. “Enough. You’ve tortured yourself enough for one night. You’re drunk, exhausted. Probably dehydrated, too. Sleep this off.”

“I cant–”

“You can. You will.” Sang-woo leans in, pressing the blanket more securely around him. “Go to sleep. I’ll be back in the morning.” 

Gi-hun wants to argue, but the words don’t come. His eyelids are heavy, and his body sinks further into the couch. The blanket is warm, and Sang-woo’s presence makes it harder to keep resisting. His breathing evens out after a moment, and then the weight of his exhaustion drags him under.

Then he’s waking up to the sound of keys in a lock, the door cracking open.

His eyes open slowly, and the blurred shape of Sang-woo comes into focus hovering over him.

“What time is it?” Gi-hun asks, blinking blearily at the light flooding in the room through his curtains.

“Nine-thirty.”

He doesn’t move for a moment, processing his words.  Then he immediately jolts upright. “Shit– shit. The shop!” He swings his legs over the couch, but Sang-woo’s hand lands on his shoulder, pushing him back into the cushions. 

“Sit down.” 

“I have to open, people’ll–”

“I opened this morning. Jung-bae’s there now. It’s covered.”

Gi-hun stares at him. The mention of Jung-bae brings memories flooding back. Drinking together, seeing In-ho. Spilling his beer all over him, the way he flinched and ran away. How he turned into a mess of tears and petals in the bakery bathroom and how Sang-woo stayed with him, carrying him through it all.

He swallows, his eyes watering. Humiliation crashes into him. He messed it all up. He’s such a fool. An idiot, a mess–

“Gi-hun,” Sang-woo says, his voice pulling him from his spiraling thoughts. “You need surgery.” 

Gi-hun freezes. The words settle heavy in his chest, tangling with the anxiety that already resides there. He can’t bring himself to look at Sang-woo, his fingers picking at the blanket pooled in his lap.

“I…” His voice cracks. “I… know.”

Sang-woo doesn’t move. His tone stays tight. “I made you an appointment. This afternoon.” 

Gi-hun laughs, though it sounds forced. He rubs his hands down his face. “You don’t waste time, do you?” 

“You don’t have time to waste,” Sang-woo replies flatly. His expression softens though, and he quietly adds “...I don’t want to lose you.” 

Whatever fight Gi-hun has left in him crumples at that. There’s a familiar weight in his chest, one that he knows from years ago, when it was Sang-woo laying in a hospital bed. He had been the one scared of losing him. Feeling helpless as he paced in the waiting room of the hospital, desperate and terrified. And now the roles are reversed.

He nods slowly. “I…know. I get it,” he says quietly. “I know how you feel. I’m sorry.”

Sang-woo’s expression softens even more. Relief flickers across his features. “Then do this for me. Trust me. Please.”

Gi-hun nods shakily. “I will. I’ll go.”

Sang-woo lingers for a beat before he stands, pulling his coat back on. “I’m going to go back to the shop– I’ve got some stuff I need to handle, and Jung-bae isn’t equipped to do it.” He gives Gi-hun a pointed look. “Rest. Eat something. Don’t do anything stupid.”

Gi-hun’s chest tightens at the thought of being alone but he nods. “Alright.” 

But before Sang-woo leaves, Gi-hun calls out to him. “Wait–”

His head appears from behind the open door. “What is it?”

Gi-hun hesitates for a moment, his gaze flickering towards his phone on the table nearby. “...Have you heard from In-ho? At all this morning?”

Sang-woo hesitates, like he’s debating on whether or not to answer. “...I tried calling him this morning. He didn’t answer. Me or Jung-bae.”

Gi-hun exhales slowly and says nothing. Sang-woo stares at him for a moment longer before finally he leaves, shutting the door quietly behind him.

Gi-hun lays still for a while, listening to the noises outside. Once he’s sure Sang-woo is gone, he leans forward and grabs his phone, unlocking it and pulling up In-ho’s contact. 

His fingers hover over the keyboard for a long moment until they begin typing something out.

Gi-hun [9:51 AM]: You probably don’t want to hear from me. But I just wanted to say I’m sorry. For showing up late, acting like a fool, spilling beer all over you, making you uncomfortable…

Gi-hun [9:53 AM]: I wish I could explain, but it’s a long story. One I’ll have to tell you in person. If you still want to see me after all that. Again, I am so sorry. 

___________________________

Gi-hun doesn’t sleep. He can’t– not with the echo of the doctor’s words in his head on a loop. The flowers are rooted deep. We need to schedule a removal as soon as possible. Every tick of the clock feels like it could be his last.

He catches himself staring at his phone for the hundredth time that morning– half hoping for a text from In-ho. But there’s nothing. No reply. No idea if he even read them.

With a frustrated groan, he gets up from his bed and shoves his phone deep into his pockets. He paces around the room for a while but eventually he can’t take it anymore and he grabs a coat and braves the chill of the early morning air. 

He walks a while without thinking. But, as if on instinct, he finds himself standing right in front of the shop. He sighs, and unlocks the door and pushes inside.

Sang-woo looks up at him from the counter and immediately frowns. “Why are you here? It’s Sunday.”

Gi-hun shrugs. “I know. I just… I don’t want to stay cooped up all day in my apartment. I’d rather be here. There’s a lot of orders, anyway.”

Sang-woo’s eyes narrow at him, but instead of arguing with him, he simply shakes his head. “Fine. Do what you want.” 

Gi-hun smiles at him crookedly. He moves past him, reaching behind the counter to grab an apron before Sang-woo’s voice stops him. 

“Your appointment– how did it go?” 

Gi-hun’s fingers freeze on the fabric. He lets out a small breath before he turns his head towards Sang-woo and forces a smile. “It went about as well as expected.” 

Sang-woo frowns at him, his eyes narrowing. “What are you going to do?” 

Gi-hun sighs, his hand dropping from the apron. “I’m going to do the surgery. What else can I do? It’s risky. And expensive. But… it’s doable. I’m scheduled tomorrow afternoon. They don’t want to wait any longer than that.”

Sang-woo studies him for a long moment, his frown softening. “...You’ll get through it,” he says finally. “It’s not easy. I know that more than anyone. But you’re stronger than you think, hyung.” 

Gi-hun swallows hard, and nods once. He’s grateful for the words, though they make his chest twist. He turns back to the apron and pulls it over his head, tying the strings with clumsy fingers.

The next few hours pass in a blink. The front doors are locked and the lights are dim, making the shop feel more private– just the two of them moving in and out of each other’s space. No constant chime of customers interrupting them. Gi-hun works on orders, sketching and trimming stems, while Sang-woo goes over stock. Clipboard in hand as he mumbles numbers under his breath. They don’t talk much– but they don’t need to. The silence is steadying for them both.

The stillness is only interrupted when Sang-woo’s phone buzzes against the counter. He glances at it before he picks it up and pinches the bridge of his nose as he reads the caller ID. “It’s my mom– hold on.” 

He steps into the back room, and Gi-hun doesn’t catch much. His voice is low and tense– something about a delivery, timing, and ice. When Sang-woo reappears a few moments later, he’s already pulling off his apron in frustration. 

“She’s having trouble with a supplier. They’re late and she can’t move the crates by herself.” He hesitates, looking at Gi-hun. “I should go help her, but I can get someone else if–”

Gi-hun waves him off before he can even finish. “Go. It’s your mom. I’m fine finishing up on my own.”

“You’re sure?” Sang-woo asks, his eyebrows furrowing. “There’s still a few orders left and the place is a mess–”

“It’s always a mess. Just go, Sang-woo. It’s really okay.” 

Sang-woo hesitates for a moment, before he exhales. “Okay. Just take it easy, okay?” He fixes Gi-hun with a pointed look. “And don’t push yourself. Let me know when you get home, too.” 

Gi-hun nods, giving him a small lopsided smile before he pulls his apron a little tighter around his waist.

With Sang-woo gone, Gi-hun moves on autopilot. He finishes order after order until only one remains. He skims the notes on it. A Hanahaki vase. White chrysanthemums. His stomach drops as he reads the next part.

Pink hydrangeas.

For a long moment, he just stares at the page. Something sour crawls up his throat. He hates them. He’s sick of them. Sick of plucking their petals out of his sink, his bedsheets, sweeping them up from the floor beside his bed. Sick of finding them clinging to his clothes like a constant cruel reminder. 

Still, he forces himself to do it. He trims the stems quickly and efficiently, arranging them nicely in a clear vase. He doesn’t even bother moving from the backroom as he does it. He just wants it to be done and over with then tucked in a fridge out of his sight. 

When he finishes it, he sets the vase down in front of him and stares at it. The pink against the white– it makes his stomach churn. But he can’t help but think of his own flowers. How they might look together in an arrangement like this.

Should he have done that? Given In-ho a bouquet like this one? A last ditch effort to confess– would it have mattered? Would it have been enough? Would it have worked?

The thought alone squeezes his chest tight. Just imagining the look on In-ho’s face drags a cough out of him. Not a bad one– but the start of something if he lets it linger. So he shakes his head, trying to clear it. 

He needs ribbon anyway. To finish this piece and be done with it. The color he needs is out on the work table. He turns towards the door, pushing it open. 

And freezes. 

In-ho is there. Just across from him, his back to him, his shoulders squared as he heads towards the exit. Gi-hun hadn’t even heard him come in. For a heartbeat, he just stands there, a breath caught in his throat. 

Then instinct takes over– he steps back. One step. Two. His heel catches on something.

The vase slips from his grip, shattering against the tile in a burst of water and petals. He doesn’t even register it as he doubles over, coughs tearing out of his throat, leaving him staggering.

Petals spill from his mouth. Pale pink and soft– some tinged red. They scatter across the tile beneath him, some soaking in the spreading puddle of the vase. His legs finally give out from underneath him and he collapses in a wheezing heap in the corner of the room.  His lungs burn like fire. He tries to swallow it all back, to force it all down but it’s useless. Something lodges in his throat, something bigger than the petals, and he gags on it, panic spiking in his chest. He claws at his throat, desperately trying to get air. 

And then– a hand. A voice.

“Gi-hun– Gi-hun, hey– Gi-hun, what’s happening– what’s wrong?”

In-ho. He doesn’t want it to be In-ho. Not like this. Not now.

The thought splinters from his mind as he spasms from another violent wave of petals that tears out of his throat. He twists to his stomach, trying to force it all out, tears pricking at his eyes and clouding his vision. The taste of iron and flowers floods his mouth. 

“Breathe Gi-hun– it’s okay. I’m here, I’ve got you–”

Every cough feels like it's tearing him apart more. His lips are wet, his chin sticky with spit and blood as petals cling to his skin. He can barely keep his eyes open, can barely breathe. 

And then it comes out.

The blockage in his throat tears free and flowers fall from his mouth onto the floor. Not petals. But entire flowers, one after the other.

Pale pink. They’re a blur beneath him but he still recognizes them anyway. 

Oleander. 

He knows what they are. What that means. 

Gi-hun’s body sags, trembling as he takes in wheezing breath after breath. He wants to fall over, curl in on himself and hide. But steady hands catch him, guiding him. His back meets the wall and he slumps heavily against it. His head lolls until it tips towards the figure next to him.

Through the haze of it all, the dark pressing at the edges of his vision, he finally sees him. In-ho.

A sharp pang goes through his chest, stronger than any cough. His lips part, his voice hoarse and cracked. “In…ho?” It comes out like a question. Like he doesn’t understand why he’s here. Like he doesn’t truly believe it’s him.

But the figure leans closer, nodding almost frantically. “Yes. Yes, Gi-hun, it’s me. I’ve got you– I’m going to help you. Please– just stay with me. Keep your eyes open, I’m right here, I’m not leaving–”

Gi-hun tries– he really does. But his vision blurs, fading at the edges. His lids grow heavy and his breathing slows despite the voice begging him not to.

He slumps again, the wall cool against his back. His vision wavers, In-ho’s face blurring, eyes wide, frantic and fixed on him.

And then it hits him.

In-ho knows.

He saw everything. The petals. The blooms– everything. 

This secret he buried deep inside his lungs, his chest. All exposed, spilled right in front of him like someone cut him open. Panic jolts through him, a desperate urge to explain, to deny, to do anything to fix this–

But there’s no strength left in him. Unable to move even as the fear lingers in his chest as the world slips away.

And then–

Nothing.

Chapter Text

Chapter 15: Nightshade

In-ho stumbles through the sliding glass doors of the hospital, his chest heaving from his sprint across the parking lot. The fluorescent lights sting his eyes, and the smell inside is sharp and clean– too sterile, almost suffocating. But he pushes forward anyway until he’s at the reception desk.

“Excuse me– please–” his voice comes out too fast, too raw. He clears his throat and takes a deep breath before he tries again. “Seong Gi-hun– I’m looking for him, for his room. He was just brought in not too long ago– I need to see him, I need to know he’s alright.”

The nurse behind the desk looks up at him, startled by his urgency. But her face smooths out quickly, into something more professional. She looks at her screen, typing something in before she nods at him. “Yes, I have his information here. Give me one moment to check his status.”

In-ho grips the edge of the counter tightly, his knuckles turning white, biting his tongue to keep from bombarding her with questions. After a beat, the nurse tilts her head at the screen before looking up and smiling at him.

“He was admitted a short while ago,” she says, gently. “He’s currently awake and the doctors are with him now.”

Relief crashes into him so forcefully that his legs almost buckle beneath him. He bows his head, taking in a deep, shaky breath. “Okay. Okay– good. Can I… can I see him?”

“I don’t see why not. The doctors will be with him for a little longer. Are you family?”

“No I’m–” he stumbles catching himself. “I’m his friend. I’m the one who found him and called the ambulance.”

“Of course. If I could just have your name?” she asks smoothly, her gaze flicking up at him from behind her computer. 

“Hwang In-ho.” 

She says nothing for a moment, staring at her screen as she scrolls and clicks quietly. Then something changes. Her face stays polite, but something hardens in her expression. She straightens in her seat. “I’m sorry sir. Unfortunately, visits aren’t being permitted at this time.”

“What?” He blinks at her, confused. “I don’t understand. You just said–”

“It’s policy. I can’t allow you to see him at this time.” 

He stares at her in disbelief, his heart lurching in his chest. “Policy? You just said I could. You’re not making any sense. Did something change? Is he…” He swallows hard, panic surging through him, the taste of flowers on the tip of his tongue. “Is he okay?”

Her lips press into a thin line, and her eyes drop back down to her screen. “You’ll have to wait for further updates sir. I apologize for the misunderstanding.”

“What misunderstanding? What the hell is going on?” His voice spikes, drawing looks from the people around him. “Is he alive or not? Tell me– what changed? Please– please. I’m begging you!”

“Sir, I cannot disclose–”

“Why not?” His fists hit the counter before he can stop himself, rattling the pens in their holder. The nurse flinches, but keeps a straight face.

In-ho’s chest heaves. He feels lightheaded, his throat closing from the panic that he tries to swallow down. “You’re telling me you can’t even tell me if he’s alive? Do you even understand what I saw? What he went through?” His voice breaks. “He collapsed in front of me– choking, wheezing. He couldn’t breathe. He was coughing up flowers– blood. And you won’t even tell me if he’s– if he’s–”

“In-ho.”

The familiar voice cuts straight through his panic. He spins around, startled, and finds Sang-woo standing a few feet away in front of the hallway that leads further into the hospital. He looks composed, though his jaw is tense and his eyes look tired. 

For a long moment, all In-ho can do is stare at him in disbelief, his body tense.

Sang-woo takes advantage of his silence, stepping closer. “Come with me.” And before In-ho can argue, Sang-woo’s hand closes around his arm, tugging him away from the desk and away from all the peering eyes in the waiting room until they’re through the sliding glass doors.

The cold night air is like a slap to his face. Sharp, but it grounds him. He takes in a cold, shaky breath, but it does nothing to stop the tight feeling in his chest, to the tremble that won’t leave his hands. He looks up at Sang-woo and words begin to tumble out before he can think about what he’s saying.

“Did you see him? Did you see Gi-hun? Is he doing alright? Please tell me he’s–”

“He’s okay,” Sang-woo interrupts, his eyes studying In-ho carefully. “Stable. He’s awake. Talking, even if he’s weak.” 

Relief slams into In-ho so hard, he almost sways on his feet where he stands. His eyes burn, his shoulders sag. But then, he suddenly straightens as frustration spikes through him. Along with something sharp that makes his skin flush against the cold air. 

Sang-woo saw him. Sang-woo was allowed in while In-ho was the one who got Gi-hun help in the first place. He was allowed to stand by his bedside while In-ho gets treated like some stranger trying to break in to see him.

It bothers him. It shouldn’t– but it does. Because Sang-woo and Gi-hun have known each other longer than the four months that In-ho has been in his life. Four months that can’t even begin to compare to almost an entire lifetime of knowing each other. A kind of bond that would be impossible to compete with. 

Jealousy rises in him fast, tightening his throat. Of course it would be Sang-woo. Someone familiar, someone safe. Someone who has been there longer, and not In-ho who came stumbling into Gi-hun’s life, broken and jagged at the edges. 

That thought twists in his head cruelly. Of course it would be him. And because In-ho’s mind is racing, the logic of it all slots together in a way that makes sense. Gi-hun’s Hanahaki has to be for Sang-woo. It would explain why he let it get this bad– because Sang-woo wouldn’t be able to love him back. He already fell once, already had the surgery. Gi-hun would know that. He wouldn’t dare try to burden Sang-woo with feelings he couldn’t ever return. He’d keep quiet and suffer, maybe even try to push Sang-woo away, which would explain their hostility towards each other for the past few months. 

“Why,” his voice catches in his throat, sounding hoarse. “Why aren’t they letting me see him?”

Sang-woo doesn’t answer right away, shifting his gaze to the side towards the empty street like he’s trying to buy himself time to think of an answer.

In-ho’s frustration and jealousy grows. “But you were in there. You saw him. They let you inside. Why?” he presses, his voice sharpening with every syllable. “How do you even know about this? Why are you allowed back there but I’m not?”

Sang-woo furrows his brows at In-ho, almost as if sensing exactly what he’s thinking. Instead of snapping at him though, he simply exhales slowly, running a hand down his face. “Because I’m his emergency contact, In-ho,” he says, his voice calculatingly calm. “They called me as soon as he was admitted. I got here as soon as I could, and I was lucky to be nearby.” 

The words land like a bucket of cold water. 

Emergency contact. Of course. 

In-ho’s jealousy fizzles out as quickly as it came, leaving embarrassment in it’s wake. He feels ridiculous for even thinking it. Gi-hun and Sang-woo have always been close, but it’s always been nothing more than that. 

In-ho blinks at him, deflating.  “Emergency contact,” he repeats back, like the words are foreign to him. “I… That makes sense– but,” his voice cracks again but he continues anyway. “That doesn’t explain anything else. Why they won’t let me see him. Everything was fine, until I told them my name. They looked at me like… like–” He shakes his head, his voice tight with frustration. “What the hell is going on? What aren’t they telling me, Sang-woo?”

Sang-woo goes still, his jaw stiffening as he takes a long breath through his nose like he’s bracing himself. His gaze flicks away for a beat before it flicks back to In-ho and stays on him. He looks at him for a long moment, really looks at him. And for a moment, his eyes are heavy with something beneath them. Something unspoken.

“In-ho…” he starts, his voice quiet and careful, like how someone might speak to an upset child that they didn’t really know how to console. 

But no words follow.

The sound of pounding footsteps running up to them interrupts whatever Sang-woo might have said next. It cuts through the tension between them both, and the two men turn to find Jung-bae there– half running, half stumbling up towards the entrance before he stops in front of them to catch his breath. His shirt is askew, like he just threw it on, and his hair is sticking up like he didn’t bother to brush it after he got dressed in a rush. 

“Sang-woo? In-ho?” His voice is breathless. “Where is he? Where is Gi-hun– I just got your text, Sang-woo. I got here as soon as I could. I need to see him–”

Jung-bae doesn’t even wait for an answer. He just barrels past them both, shoving through the sliding glass doors and into the lobby.

For a moment, In-ho just stands there, thrown off by the sudden intrusion of Jung-bae. The fragile and tense moment between him and Sang-woo is gone, leaving frustration in it’s wake. 

Sang-woo’s gaze briefly flicks to In-ho before he sighs, shaking his head softly. There’s something unreadable in his expression but In-ho barely catches it before Sang-woo pushes past him gently and goes through the doors after Jung-bae.

In-ho clenches his jaw, forcing himself to swallow his frustration down, and follows after him. He immediately catches sight of Jung-bae at the reception desk like he was moments ago.

The nurse looks at Jung-bae differently. Her expression stays warm, never hardening like it did when she spoke to In-ho, which only makes the unease in his stomach grow more. She speaks soft and low to him, pointing something out to him on her computer and he nods in understanding before he turns and catches sight of Sang-woo and In-ho hovering a few feet behind him. He quickly approaches them both, urgent in his steps. “Okay. Let’s go. All three of us.” He starts walking away, waving for them to follow. In-ho immediately takes a step forward before Sang-woo’s hand reaches out to stop him, firm on his shoulder.

In-ho looks at him, his eyes searching desperately, trying to understand. Sang-woo refuses to meet his gaze. He keeps his eyes fixed  straight ahead on Jung-bae. The pressure of his grip is heavy and deliberate, anchoring him in place.

“He can’t.” 

Jung-bae stares back at him, mouth agape as he steps forward. “What do you mean he can’t? Don’t be ridiculous, Sang-woo– In-ho deserves to see him as much as we do. We’re all close to him.” 

But Sang-woo doesn’t respond. The hand on In-ho’s shoulder tightens its grip and he turns to stare at him hard and heavy like he did outside moments ago. Like he’s trying to communicate something to him without saying it out loud.

In-ho wants to rip from his grasp. Wants to look away and go with Jung-bae, the nurses and doctors– Sang-woo be damned. 

But something stops him. Freezes him in his steps as he stares at Sang-woo.

There’s only one explanation. Only one person that wouldn’t be allowed near a Hanahaki case. One person whose presence could only make everything worse. Who could send Gi-hun coughing and choking again, struggling for breath until his lungs gave out.

And if they aren’t letting him in– if they only reacted like that the second they knew who he was–

Then that means Gi-hun’s Hanahaki…

The realization slams into him, staggering, like the floor’s been ripped out from underneath his feet. His breathing stutters like he’s been punched, his heart pounds in his chest like a frantic drum, mirroring the panic and awe that crashes through him. His stomach twists and lurches as understanding and disbelief collide, leaving him feeling dizzy.

It’s for him. 

Gi-hun has Hanahaki for him. 

He’d been carrying this quietly, painfully, all this time. Just like In-ho. And he’d been too blind, too foolish, too caught up in his own insecurities and walls to see it. Too stubborn to recognize the truth that had been staring him right in the face. 

It makes him want to collapse, to curl in on himself. To scream in the silence of the waiting room. His chest feels too tight, too heavy, like the truth of it all is too much to bear. But underneath that, there’s something else. Something new that blooms, burning and fierce. Hope, sharp and new. 

Gi-hun had loved him, too. All this time.

And In-ho had almost walked away from it all.

Without thinking, he surges forward, grabbing Sang-woo by the shoulders, his grip tight and trembling. Thoughts swirl in his head, a storm of disbelief, confusion, and now anger.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice is raw and cracked when it finally tears out from him.

Sang-woo doesn’t react to In-ho’s grip. His eyes flash with something like realization, but it’s quickly replaced with something else. Something that looks like defeat. His voice is steady when he speaks, controlled.

“It wasn’t my place to tell you.”

The words land like heavy stones in In-ho’s chest. Anger surges, boiling, making his throat tighten. 

“But you knew. You knew about me,” he snaps, his voice ragged.

For the first time, In-ho sees Sang-woo’s carefully crafted composure break. His brows furrow, his mouth parts, and his eyes narrow as confusion overtakes his expression. “I– what are you talking about?”

His genuine bafflement catches In-ho off guard. His grip on his shoulders loosens without him meaning to, and his voice is lower and much softer when he speaks, tone uncertain. 

“You… you cornered me in the back room. You had me all figured out. I thought you knew about it. About me.”

Sang-woo’s hands move up slowly, prying In-ho’s trembling fingers from his shoulders with a careful gentleness In-ho has never experienced from the man before now. His gaze never wavers from his face, searching his features desperately like he’s trying to understand, like he can find the answers he seeks there.

“What would I have known about you, In-ho?”

The silence stretches long between them, taut and heavy. Breathless. Until In-ho finally forces the words from where they’ve lodged in his throat, just barely above a whisper. “My Hanahaki.”

For a long moment, Sang-woo does nothing but stare at him. His mouth opens, then closes again like words simply won’t form, won’t come out. In-ho watches it all unfold across his face– his composure splintering, his mind racing behind his eyes, the way he starts to force things together like putting puzzle pieces in place at a breakneck pace.

Realization dawns over his expression.  

It’s quickly replaced by disbelief. Then, annoyance. 

He breathes out a long, low breath.“...You’ve got to be kidding me.” 

In-ho flinches at the sharpness of the comment. His stomach twists as he watches Sang-woo’s face, every flicker of expression revealing just how much is happening behind his carefully controlled features.

Jung-bae, who’s been hovering the entire time, steps forward with his arms crossed. He looks between the two of them with a furrowed brow. “I don’t understand. So Sang-woo knew about your Hanahaki for Gi-hun too then? Is that why you can’t go back there?”

Sang-woo spins on him sharply. “You knew about this?”

Jung-bae blinks, caught off guard, but then immediately bristles. “I’ve only known for a few days! Since the New Year’s party, alright? He practically collapsed on me outside– what was I supposed to do, ignore him?”

Sang-woo’s gaze darkens. “And you didn’t think to say anything?”

“No! I didn’t! Just like you never mentioned knowing about Gi-hun so don’t even start Sang-woo,” Jung-bae shoots back, pointing a finger at him defensively.

Sang-woo’s face twists at that and he looks away quickly, his jaw tight. 

Jung-bae stares at him for a moment before his gaze flickers to In-ho and then he visibly deflates like the fight just leaves his body. He exhales slowly. “We shouldn’t do this here. We should see Gi-hun– not fight like this. This is about him anyway. He’s the one in the hospital, he’s the one who needs us right now. And if In-ho wants to see him, despite his condition, then I say we let him. It’s not like Gi-hun wouldn’t want to see him. I mean unless…”

His voice trails off. His words hang in the air for a long moment before his eyes suddenly widen and realization crawls over his face in real time. 

“No fucking way– don’t tell me,” Jung-bae starts, his voice low and full of disbelief. “Gi-hun’s Hanahaki is for–”

“Me.”

In-ho finally cuts in, his voice flat and stunned. His throat works around the word like it doesn’t fit, like it hurts him to say. His eyes are wide, his chest aching as he forces it out again, this time much quieter. 

“It’s for me.”

In-ho swallows hard, the words he said repeating in his mind over and over again. For a long moment, all he can do is stare at Jung-bae and Sang-woo, trying to process the magnitude of what he’s finally said out loud.

Jung-bae’s shocked expression fades into something softer like relief. “That’s… That’s great, actually!” he says, his voice a mixture of hope and urgency. “Now you know, so you’re cured, right? You can tell him right now, stop this before it’s too late.”

In-ho’s chest tightens. He opens his mouth, though he isn’t even sure what he wants to say. Luckily, Sang-woo’s sharp shake of his head cuts through the moment.

“It’s not that simple,” Sang-woo says, his tone flat and grim.

“Why not? I mean, maybe if we explained the circumstances–”

“They’re not going to let him back there,” Sang-woo interrupts flatly. His jaw is set and his tone is grim. “This happened before, don’t you remember? With Ali.”

Jung-bae freezes, the memory flickering visibly across his face. His shoulders droop. “...Right. When Ali tried to see you,” he says, his voice quiet.

In-ho blinks at them both, before furrowing his brow. “...What happened when he tried to see you?” he presses, his voice low.

Sang-woo exhales slowly, closing his eyes as he drags a hand over his face, like he’s trying to pull old memories up to the surface. “...When Ali showed up at the hospital, they refused to let him see me. Even though he tried to tell them he returned the feelings. But it was deemed too dangerous. The doctors didn’t want to risk it– not that close to surgery. A single glimpse of him could have been enough to trigger an attack.”

He exhales slowly, his eyes flickering briefly towards the hallway. “And Gi-hun’s surgery’s been moved up. It’s scheduled in a few hours.”

In-ho’s takes in a shaky breath. Hopelessness grips at him tightly, as his stomach drops out from under him. 

A few hours. He feels sick. 

Jung-bae takes a step closer to him, reaching a hand out to gently pat In-ho’s shoulder. “Hey. There’s another way,” Jung-bae says gently, carefully. “We could just tell Gi-hun, In-ho. He could be cured then, and then they wouldn’t be able to do the surgery.”

“No. That isn’t how it works,” Sang-woo cuts in immediately. “The confession has to come from In-ho directly, in person. Otherwise, it doesn’t work.” 

“Well, we could still tell him anyway,” Jung-bae presses, his voice desperate. “Then maybe he could refuse–”

“No.”

The word is quiet but firm. 

In-ho lifts his gaze from the floor to look at the both of them. Something burns inside his chest– desperation. Determination. “Don’t tell him.” In-ho’s voice shakes. “I want to be the one to tell him.”

Sang-woo exhales sharply, immediately shaking his head. “There’s no time for that, In-ho. Every minute matters–”

“Please.” In-ho says, his voice cracking. “Please. Let me have this. I messed this up already too many times. Let me get it right. I swear I’ll get it right this time.” Thoughts swirl in his head, fast and dizzying. A plan is taking place in the back of his mind, slowly, half formed. But stubborn and unyielding. The details aren’t formed yet– but the one thing he knows with certainty is that he needs to go. Now. To the shop

Sang-woo stares at In-ho for a long moment, his eyes narrowed as they search In-ho’s face. Whatever he reads there is enough. He works his jaw for a moment before he looks away.

“...Okay.” His voice is weighted. “Okay. Fine.”

In-ho swallows thickly, before taking a deep breath. “I… I need to get to the shop.”

Sang-woo looks at him confused. But he doesn’t press. “I can drive you,” he offers.

In-ho shakes his head, firm. “No. No, I’d rather you be here. Both of you. Just in case…” he trails off, averting his gaze. “I just need you both here. But… I need a phone.”

“A phone?” Jung-bae asks, eyes wide. “Where’s yours? Why don’t you have it with you?”

“I… lost it,” In-ho says quickly, keeping his gaze averted, afraid they might press further. 

Thankfully, neither of them do. Instead, Sang-woo turns to Jung-bae. “Give him yours.” 

Jung-bae blinks, taken aback. “What? Why mine?”

Sang-woo’s expression never shifts. “Just do it.” 

Jung-bae huffs, but he moves to fish his phone out of his pocket, muttering under his breath as he hands it to In-ho.

In-ho takes it without a word, slipping it into his own pocket before he turns to Sang-woo heart racing. “I’ll text you. I need a reply, right away when I do.”

Sang-woo nods once, silent. He studies him for a moment. “How do you plan to get to the shop and back here in time?” 

In-ho straightens. “I’ve got it covered,” he says, his voice steady despite the shake in his hands. He exhales slowly, before steeling himself and making his way back outside.

The cold night air greets him as he steps outside. He barely notices it. 

He takes Jung-bae’s phone out from his pocket. Fingers trembling, he dials. 

The line rings for a few moments, before it connects. 

“Hello? Who is this?”

“Jun-ho,” he says, relief filling his chest at the sound of his brother’s voice on the other end. “It’s me. I… I’m at the hospital. I need you to pick me up.”

There’s a pause on the other end, then a flurry of movement. “In-ho?” Jun-ho’s voice is sharp with panic. “What do you mean you’re at the hospital– is everything okay? What happened?”

“I’m fine,” In-ho quickly says, cutting him off before more questions can come out of his mouth. “I’m not here for me. But it’s a long story. I just… I really need a ride to the shop. Fast.”

“The shop?” Jun-ho says, his voice tight with concern. “You’re not making any sense. Why do you need to go to the shop this late? What the hell is going on?”

“Jun-ho, I promise I can explain later,” he says firmly. “I just can’t. Not right now. Please just… come get me.”

There’s another pause, longer this time. Then an even longer exhale. “...Okay. Okay, fine. I’m kind of far right now, but one of the officers I work with is doing his nightly patrols in that area. I can have him pick you up.”

“That’s fine. Thank you,” In-ho says. “But… I’ll need a ride back after.” 

“I can meet you at the shop then.”

In-ho swallows, gripping the phone tightly. “Okay. Thank you, Jun-ho.”

The line goes quiet, and he lowers the phone. His chest tightens with anticipation, steeling himself for what comes next.

___________________________

In-ho bursts through the doors of the shop so violently that they bang against the wall so hard their hinges rattle. He hadn’t bothered locking it earlier in his panic and he doesn’t bother shutting the door behind him now. Cold wind fills the room, whipping behind him as he slams his hand against the light switch.

The fluorescent lights flicker to life overhead, buzzing. He barely registers them, barrelling straight to the back room, his heartbeat pounding loudly in his ears and drowning everything else out.

He’s half-sprinting, half-stumbling, his fingers fumbling clumsily at Jung-bae’s phone as he pulls it out of his pocket to look at the screen. He nearly drops it in his rush, but manages to get it open to Sang-woo’s last text message sent at his request. 

Pink hydrangeas, yellow pansies, white begonias.

He doesn’t need to read them twice– he read them over and over on his ride here, memorizing them in his mind, going over exactly where they are in the back, which buckets he needs to find. He tucks the phone back into his pocket before plunging his hands into the buckets he needs, pulling out stems in shaking fists. He doesn’t care that he isn’t being careful, that some of the stems snap in his grasp, that the cold water bites harshly into his skin.

The list chants again in his head.

Pink hydrangeas, yellow pansies, white begonias.

And then– 

White daisies, burgundy scabiosas, purple hyacinths.

His own flowers.

In-ho’s already reaching for them before he can even think about it. He drags handfuls from their buckets, already familiar with their locations as he’s seen them so many times in the shop, or torn from his throat. 

The flowers scrape and tangle with his first fistful, but he fits them together anyway until he’s holding a violent, clashing bundle of blooms to his chest.

It’s a mess. A disaster. The colors clash, the shapes are uneven and ugly together. Some of the stems are broken, the flowers tilted, some of the petals falling pitifully to the floor below. 

But all he sees when he looks at it is a message loud and clear.

I love you.

The words slam into him, pounding against his skull with every frantic beat of his heart. 

I love him.

The thought rings out in his head, looping over and over, filling the space completely. I love him. I love him. I love him.

Gi-hun’s face floods his mind– his crooked smile, bright, and always turned towards him like he mattered. The way he reached for In-ho even when he tried to keep himself closed off, or pushed him away. The warmth in his voice that he only seemed to reserve for In-ho, careful and kind. The way he always seemed to want him around, like In-ho’s presence was worth something. Like he was worth something.

Every thought presses against him, tender and unbearable. He loves him.

And then, like a tide being pulled back, a thought slips in.

Gi-hun feels the same.

Realization settles over him slowly, like warm water soaking into cold skin. All this time– every look, every lingering touch, every word he ever said– Gi-hun had, too, been carrying this same weight. This same ache. 

And this entire time, In-ho hadn’t even thought about it. When he saw Gi-hun collapsed, choking, the blood, the petals– he never wondered who it was for. He never asked himself. Never even considered. He had just wanted to see him, to know he was okay and safe.

But now, he knows. The truth stares back at him in the tangled bouquet in his hands. Their flowers, their equal suffering in silence. Both choking on blossoms for one another this entire time in tandem until they either died or went under a knife on an operating table.

And In-ho almost let it happen. That thought twists like a knife in his chest. He almost left. Back to the island– back to the place that had already broken him once. To the rot and cruelty that he would have overseen inside his gilded cage. He would have left without a single word, no confession, and left Gi-hun to carve his chest out on an operating table while he did the same. 

He would have doomed them both. 

And Jun-ho had been right all along. Banging on his door, pulling him out of his own head. Jun-ho– his brother could always see what he couldn’t– or perhaps, what he wouldn’t.

And of course In-ho hadn’t listened to him. Had almost left him behind in all of this, too. 

His arms tighten around the bouquet in his grip, the stems bending further in his harsh grip. The petals press against his chest, anchoring him to the present. The thought of what he almost did– what he almost didn’t do– presses down on him until he can barely breathe. 

But then, he forces himself to inhale. Once, twice. He doesn’t have the luxury of time to unravel now. Not when he knows Gi-hun is lying in a hospital bed, waiting for a confession he believes will never come. That almost never came. 

In-ho straightens, rubbing a trembling hand down his face. He needs to go back– he has to go back. He has to get to him.

Suddenly, behind him, bright white lights cut through the window, glaring across the walls and shelves of the shop. For a beat, he freezes, his hand covering his eyes from the harsh light. Then, he sees the familiar shape of Jun-ho’s car pulling to the curb.

His pulse leaps and, without a second thought, he bursts through the doors into the cool night air, the bouquet clutched tightly against his chest. Jun-ho lowers the window as he skids to a stop in front of the passenger side door. Concern flickers across his expression.

“In-ho, what the hell is going on–?”

“It’s Gi-hun,” In-ho says, breathless, his voice cracking on his name. “Please– just drive. I’ll explain on the way.”

For a moment, Jun-ho just stares at him. But whatever he seems to find in his expression– desperation, terror, something wild and sharp– is enough. He doesn’t open his mouth to argue or ask more questions, he simply reaches across and unlocks the door.

In-ho doesn’t hesitate. He yanks open the door and quickly slides into the passenger seat, bouquet still pressed against him like it’s the only thing keeping him together. The moment the door shuts, Jun-ho quickly pulls out onto the street, headlights cutting through the dark.

For a few moments, the only sounds are the engine’s low growl and In-ho’s frantic breathing. But as the car settles into the rhythm of the road, so does he. Just enough for Jun-ho to notice and glance sideways at him, his brow furrowed.

“Talk,” Jun-ho says, his voice quiet but commanding.

And so In-ho does.

Words tumble out of him before he can stop himself. He talks about Gi-hun. About the surgery. About how he planned to disappear again– though he doesn’t dare tell Jun-ho where to. He tells him how he found Gi-hun collapsed, choking on flowers that he now knows were for him. That their sicknesses mirrored each other. That Jun-ho was right. 

And Jun-ho never once interrupts. He doesn’t scoff, or push. He just listens, his eyes never once leaving the road in front of him, though his jaw is tight. 

The city rushes by around them, streetlights blurring into colors, lights flickering over their faces. When they eventually turn into the hospital parking lot, Jun-ho eases the car to a stop. Before In-ho can unbuckle, Jun-ho reaches out, grasping his arm. His grip isn’t rough, but it’s firm enough to make him pause, and he turns to look at him. Jun-ho simply stares back at him, his gaze steady, no judgement there. He says nothing, but his fingers squeeze his arm gently, comforting. 

“Thank you,” In-ho breathes. It’s barely a whisper, even in the quiet of the car. 

Jun-ho nods at him, his hand slipping from his arm. “Go. I’ll be here.” 

In-ho opens the door, slamming it shut behind him before he hurriedly runs to the hospital entrance. His heart hammers in his ears, his feet slapping loudly against the pavement. 

As he reaches the entrance, he catches sight of Jung-bae and Sang-woo standing there, exactly where they said they’d be. Jung-bae’s eyes widen when he sees him before they drop to the bundle of flowers in his hand.

“You went back for flowers?” he blurts out in disbelief. “Are you crazy?”

In-ho doesn’t answer him. He doesn’t have the patience to. Instead, he turns to look at Sang-woo, his voice tight.  “I need a distraction.”

Sang-woo looks at the flowers in his hand for a long moment before something in his expression shifts– his lips press into a thin line and the faintest flicker of understanding crosses his face before he looks back up at In-ho. “Okay. What do you need us to do?”

“Anything. They’re not going to let me inside. Just something that can buy me a few seconds so I can sneak in without them stopping me.”

For a beat, neither of them move. Then, slowly, Sang-woo turns to Jung-bae. He doesn’t say a word– he doesn’t need to. His expression is deliberate, pointed: you know what to do.

Jung-bae exhales through his nose. “You both owe me for this,” he mutters before he pushes through the entrance of the hospital and strides towards the front desk. Sang-woo catches In-ho’s gaze briefly before he nods at him and they both follow the other man inside.

Jung-bae doesn’t hold back. One second he’s walking in, the next he’s slipping– an exaggerated full-bodied flail that almost immediately sends the waiting room into chaos. His legs kick out, his arms windmill in the air as he crashes into a nearby plant that clashes to the floor along with him, echoing loudly in the lobby.

The nurse behind the desk– the same one that spoke to In-ho earlier– darts up to her feet. “Sir! Sir, are you okay?” she calls out, quickly rushing around the counter.

Jung-bae groans theatrically, barely moving from where he lays dramatically on the tile. “I can’t move– I think it’s– fuck, someone call a doctor!” he wails, squeezing his eyes shut for good measure. A woman nearby him gasps and moves to help him, and then suddenly the entire front area is a swarm of movement. 

Sang-woo doesn’t waste a moment of time. Without a single word, he grabs In-ho’s arm and pulls him hard towards the now unattended doors nearby. In-ho clutches the flowers tightly to his chest as he allows himself to be pulled down the hallway, the noise and chaos behind them disappearing into a distant hum.

“Fourth floor,” Sang-woo murmurs to him as they walk, his voice urgent and low. “Room fifty-six. You aren’t going to have much time once you get up there, so make every second count.” 

In-ho’s stomach flips with anxiety, but he manages a nod in response. 

Sang-woo suddenly pulls him down another corridor, towards the elevators. He hits the button with more force than necessary before he turns to face him. For a brief moment, all the sharp features of his face soften, his expression easing. “Good luck,” he says quietly.

The elevator door dings, the doors sliding open.

In-ho steps inside, the bouquet still clutched tight within his grasp, his heart hammering against his ribs. Sang-woo gives him one last nod before the doors close between them. 

He stares at his reflection in the metal panel of the door as the elevator starts to climb upwards. His chest rises and falls too fast, his hands are shaking around the bundle of flowers. His heart feels like it might hammer right out of his chest.

He repeats the floor and room number under his breath over and over, grounding himself as he watches the number at the top of the elevator slowly rise.

Fourth floor. Room fifty-six. Fourth floor. Room fifty-six.

When the elevator finally lurches to a stop, his palms are slick with sweat. The doors open slowly to a hallway with muted halls and the same bright fluorescent lighting overhead. It’s quiet– so quiet that when he steps out the only sound he can hear is the faint beeping of machines in the rooms he passes by. His footsteps echo loudly against the linoleum floor as he walks, too loud in the emptiness and it makes his nerves coil tighter. 

What if he doesn’t want to see me? What if I’m too late? 

In-ho pushes his swirling thoughts down, his pace quickening until he turns down another long hallway and then stops. He finds the door. A private room. Room fifty-six.

HIs breath catches in his throat. He reaches his hands out, but as his hand hits the door handle it hesitates. He’s terrified of what he might see on the other side. Terrified he’s too late, that this isn’t going to work. But he takes a shaky breath, and pushes the door open anyway.

The room inside is still. 

Gi-hun is there, laying in the hospital bed. His head is turned away from the door and towards the window, eyes closed like he’s sleeping. His hair is tousled, dark strands falling across his forehead and brushing against his cheek, framing his face. Without his usual restless energy, his features settle into something gentle, unguarded. His brow is smoothed out, his lips parted slightly with each quiet breath. There’s a faint stubble on his face that In-ho has never seen before. He finds that he likes it. Wonders how it would feel against his own skin. 

All the nerves buzzing beneath his skin quiet down, and are replaced with a familiar slow, blooming ache. He can’t even bring himself to move, can’t bring himself to stop looking at him. He never thought he’d be able to see Gi-hun like this, so soft, so quiet. He almost never did, almost took that away from himself. If he’d have really gone back to the island, if he’d really walked away, he would have lost this forever.

But then, the room hits him. The faint smell of antiseptic, the rhythmic and steady beeping of a machine. The thin tubing winding across the white sheets in the dim light. It’s all too familiar, like he’s walking straight into a memory he’s still trying to bury after all these years. 

Her room looked like this.

That thought hits him like a blow to his chest, punching the air out from him. His vision wavers at the edges. He remembers holding her hand as the same monitors beeped around them, how the way everything in that room smelled the same– how everything smelled like endings.

He can’t let this be another ending.

His feet finally move from beneath him, and he steps forward but then stops. The room tilts slightly, and the weight of the flowers in his hands is suddenly unbearable. 

“Gi–”

The name sticks in his throat. The sound that follows it is a choking, wet noise.

The blooming ache in his chest suddenly explodes into a hot, overwhelming pain. He doubles over immediately, a violent cough tearing through his lungs like glass, wet and jagged. Flowers spill past his lips, crushed wet petals hitting and scattering across the floor like bloodstains. He drops to his knees hard, the bouquet slipping from his grasp and falling into a scattered heap beside him– all the flowers tangled together in a desperate, clashing sprawl. 

He gasps, but air doesn’t fill his lungs– instead they seize, and his throat burns with every breath, raw. More flowers pour out– white, burgundy, purple– but then something else comes up, tearing free from his throat. 

Dark purple. Star shaped– the center yellow.

Nightshade.

The recognition hits him like ice water. A shudder wracks through his body. He knows what this means. Poisonous. Final stages. There is no more time. No more stalling.

Panic claws up his spine as another wave of pain tears through him. His fingers desperately claw at the floor, fingers smearing the petals, but the flowers just keep coming, unstoppable.

Somewhere above him, a loud frantic sound fills the room– the monitor Gi-hun was connected to is beeping frantically, shrieking a warning. 

Hands suddenly grab him, warm and real, trying to pull him up. In-ho blinks through his haze, and forces his head up– and there he is.

Gi-hun.

Awake, his eyes wide with shock and fear, tangled in IV lines that he must have pulled out in order to reach him. He’s saying something, his voice sounding urgent, but In-ho can’t make it out over the sound of the pounding heartbeat in his ears, or over the sound of his own retching as more flowers scrape up his throat and pour out of his mouth. 

Gi-hun’s hands tighten on his shoulders. But his gaze flickers about the room wildly like he’s searching for something, like he’s trying to make sense of what’s happening, panic etched into every line on his face. His gaze flicks downwards, landing on the floor and then, suddenly, he stills. 

In-ho follows his gaze, his own eyes landing on the bouquet.

The messy, half-crushed bundle of blooms are sprawled across the tile. His flowers. Gi-hun’s flowers. In-ho blinks blearily, taking in a ragged, wheezing breath, watching as Gi-hun gently reaches a hand out to touch a few of the broken petals. His hand lingers there for a moment, before he turns quickly back to In-ho. He stares at him, gaze intense for a brief moment, before it darts to the mess of petals on the ground that fell from his mouth.

And then In-ho sees it happen in real time as it unfolds across Gi-hun’s expression. A flicker of confusion. Then, realization. Gi-hun’s breath catches, and his hands tighten against him even harder than before. Like he’s afraid to let go.

“In-ho,” Gi-hun says gently, his voice trembling. 

He understands. He understands.

In-ho’s vision swims. His chest burns, and the room around him is starting to dim around the edges.

But just before everything slips away, he hears him– voice hoarse, frantic, but real.

“I love you, too.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 16: Roots

The first thing In-ho learns when he wakes up is pain.

Deep pain. A dragging, pulling ache that sits behind his ribs like something rooted there is tearing itself free. His chest tightens, his breath snagging, and before he can even fully open his eyes he’s coughing. Violent, body-wracking coughs that curl him forward as they steal all the air from his lungs. 

Nurses rush in immediately. Hands steady him, their voices around him firm but gentle. A tube is pressed near his mouth as petals explode from it along with something else– something new. Thick strands of something, fibrous and long– roots. Tangled, slick with saliva and blood, pulled straight from his lungs where they once resided.

He chokes, gasping and folding in on himself as another wave climbs up, pulling a wrecked sob from his throat as he gags on them. 

The nurses around him are silent and pale. He hears one of them mutter under his breath– I’ve never seen a case this advanced without surgery before– before the others hush him. 

When the fit finally slows, he sags back against his pillows, his breathing shallow and body trembling.

The doctor arrives a few minutes later, still fastening her coat. The shock on her face is unmistakable as she stares at the mess of roots the nurses are still working to clean up, stares at the strain in In-ho’s breathing. She takes a deep breath before she quietly admits to him that she has never seen anyone confess at this stage of hanahaki before– that the roots should have been too deep. That it’s a miracle he and Gi-hun are both still alive.

And then comes the part that hurts worse than the roots scraping up his throat.

He isn’t allowed to see Gi-hun.

They need to keep them apart to avoid complications in their already weakened states, to stop their emotions from spiking and making things even worse. Different rooms, different floors. Strict instructions not to seek each other out.

He tried to argue. Got as far as “I need to–” before the coughing cut through so violently he nearly blacked out.

The days pass slowly, agonizingly. Every morning is the same– a burst of coughing that rattles through his body and drags loose the last of the more stubborn tangle of roots. But by the end of the second day, the fits finally seem to lessen. By the third, he can breathe again without wheezing.

He thinks of Gi-hun constantly. Worries constantly. He overhears conversations outside his room– nurses talking in hushed tones about how they’ve never seen two people come so close to dying from mutual hanahaki and somehow still survive without surgery.

In-ho can’t take it. He begs Jun-ho when he stops by to go in his stead to see Gi-hun, but they won’t let him in his room. So he turns to the nurses, begging them to tell him anything, until one of them that’s more fond of him than the rest, finally starts to give in to him. But even her updates aren’t enough.

By the fourth morning, the worst of it had passed and the room around him had finally stopped feeling so suffocating.

The air still faintly smelled of flowers, dirt, and disinfectant, but In-ho finds he can breathe deeper now. Easier. The ache in his chest is gone, though his throat still burns when he swallows– but it’s more dull than sharp. A healing bruise rather than an irritated wound. He finds himself staring at the slow and steady rhythm of the heart monitor when the door to his room suddenly swings open. 

“Good morning Mr. Hwang!” 

He looks up in time to see his nurse, Jang Geum-ja, bustle her way into the room with her usual endless energy. Her gray-streaked hair is pulled back in a messy bun, her lanyard swinging wildly as she sets a tray with tea on it on the side table. “Ah, you’re looking much better today. Not good enough to be on magazine covers, but we’re getting there! Got some color back in your cheeks, I see!”

“I feel fine,” he rasps, his voice coming out gravelly. 

“Oh you sure sound fine,” she teases. “Not like someone who’s been coughing up roots and flowers at all.” She checks his IV line with deft hands. “Any dizziness? Shortness of breath? Sudden urge to start a garden?”

That earns her a small huff– something between a sigh and a laugh.

As she opens her mouth, In-ho quickly cuts her off before she can start her next barrage of questions. 

“How is Gi-hun?”

She pauses in her movements, her face lighting up like it does every time when he asks that question. “Ah, stubborn Mr. Seong– his roots are almost as stubborn as he is, but he’s a fighter. Got another system out last night,” she says, taking his hand and patting it as she inspects where the IV is inserted. “You should have seen the mess– or, well, maybe not.”

The door to the room creaks open again, and a taller man steps in– thin, bespectacled, wearing the same nurse’s uniform. “Eomma,” he says wearily, “you can’t discuss other patients’ conditions. You know that.” 

She waves him off. “Hush, Yong-sik. This is different. This is romantic.” 

“Protocol says–” 

“Protocol can wait. Go log his vitals, dear.”

Yong-sik sighs, but obeys, crossing the room to the monitor to look at the readings. “Pulse is stable, and oxygen levels look good. Really good, actually.” He throws a glance at In-ho, his eyebrows raising. “You’re recovering rather quickly, Mr. Hwang. That’s really encouraging.” 

Geum-ja beams. “Encouraging? More like miraculous! Love truly is the best medicine– ah, it’s just like a drama you’d watch on TV, the two of you. Fated and tragic, and so close to your happy ending.”  

Yong-sik and In-ho exchange a look before he rolls his eyes. He flips through the paperwork in his hands before clearing his throat. “Your readings and scans have looked great for the past forty-eight hours, Mr. Hwang,” he says, tone professional. “All your root systems have come out, and we’re not seeing anything else on the scans from earlier this morning. The doctor wants to keep you overnight just to be sure. But it’s looking like you’ll be discharged tomorrow morning.” 

In-ho straightens slightly. “Tomorrow?”

“Mm-hmm,” Geum-ja hums, smoothing his blanket. “You’ll still have a few follow ups, of course, but you’ve done beautifully.” 

He lets that sink in for a moment. “...And Gi-hun?” he asks, quietly. 

The two nurses exchange a glance. Yong-sik hesitates, opening his mouth, but his mother is quicker. “He’s still a bit behind you dear. His lungs need a little more… convincing. The roots were embedded a lot deeper than anyone realized, poor thing.” 

In-ho’s face falls, worry creeping up his throat. “...And I still can’t see him?”

“Definitely not,” Yong-sik says immediately, not even looking up from the paperwork. 

Geum-ja elbows him sharply in the ribs, and he cries out in surprise, hand coming up to rub his side. “Eomma–” 

“I swear, sometimes you have no bedside manner whatsoever–” she snaps, before turning to In-ho, her face softening. “What my son means to say, dear, is that it isn’t quite time yet.” She reaches a hand out and pats his arm gently. “I know you want to see him, but the best thing you can do for him right now is let him heal on his own. His lungs are still fragile, and any emotional spike could make things a lot harder for him.” 

In-ho’s jaw tightens, and his gaze flicks away from her face and towards the window instead. There’s an argument sitting just behind his teeth– one he’s had over and over with every nurse and doctor that’s told him no.

Before he can start, Geum-ja quickly presses on gently. “Ah, don’t frown like that. He’s nearly there. He’s strong. Just give him a few more days, and I’m sure he’ll be sprinting down these halls just to get to you.”

That earns her the faintest twitch of his mouth. Not enough to be a smile, but enough to make her grin widely at him in return. 

“That’s better,” she says softly. “Remember that worrying won’t make him heal any faster, hm? The doctors will take care of him for now.” 

In-ho exhales, the tension in his shoulders easing just a bit, though his hands move to grip the edge of his blanket tightly. “...I suppose.” 

Geum-ja studies him for a long moment. “Ah… I know you miss him.” 

His gaze lowers. “I do. He’s been through enough.” 

“Yes. But so have you,” she says, fixing him with a look. “But that’s the beautiful part, hm? You both love each other so much, went through so much– it nearly killed you. And yet, somehow, that same love is what’s going to save you instead.”

In-ho isn’t sure what to say for a long moment. He swallows once, the corners of his mouth tugging downward as he tries to blink back the sudden pressure behind his eyes.

Geum-ja senses it. Of course she does. But her expression softens even more as she steps a little closer, her voice lowering. 

“Ahh.. none of that, dear,” she murmurs softly, taking his hand in her own. “Everything will be just fine. You’re allowed to breathe now. The both of you.”

In-ho blinks again, hard. He still says nothing, but the tension in his shoulders eases just a fraction before he gently nods at her, a small tilt of his head. 

Yong-sik clears his throat awkwardly, pointedly looking away from the two of them. His hand comes to his mother’s shoulder. “We should, perhaps… give Mr. Hwang some more time to rest this morning. Finish our rounds.”

Geum-ja hums at him in acknowledgment, but doesn’t remove her hand from In-ho’s right away. Instead, she gives one more comforting pat before she stands. “You’ll see him soon,” she says. “Rest while you can.” Then she finally steps back. 

Yong-sik walks with her out, holding the door open before they both slip out into the hallway.

___________________________

They let him out early the next morning.

The nurses come in, moving quietly and efficiently as they move through their final checks. The monitors he’s hooked up to are all removed, one by one. His paperwork is signed, and the white wristband that marks him as a patient is snipped away.

Geum-ja insists on walking him out– he thinks it’s because the staff believes he would run to Gi-hun’s room the moment he was unsupervised, which is probably true. She chats at him the entire way, but In-ho hardly listens. The lights of the hallway are too bright, the sounds of the machines and the squeak of his shoes on the linoleum floor too distracting.

When they reach the entrance, Jun-ho is there, waiting, coat collar turned up and a paper cup in hand. When he sees In-ho, he says nothing. Just smiles at him softly before holding the cup out to him as a silent offering. In-ho takes it without a word, taking a small sip. Black coffee. It burns a little going down, but it grounds him in a way nothing else has in the past week– stronger and better than the tea Geum-ja insisted on making for him, though he’d never dare tell her that. 

The drive home is slow and quiet. The city outside passes by in blurs of motion– people, traffic, the ordinary life he’s been away from for too long. He barely notices it, too wrapped up in checking his phone every few minutes, hoping for a new update from Sang-woo that isn’t there yet. His recent messages sit open:

Sang-woo [7:38 AM]: He’s doing okay today, just some small coughing fits. He keeps asking about you. 

Sang-woo [8:00 AM]: His scans look better today. Still a little left, but he’ll be clear soon. 

Reading them helps. But it isn’t enough.

When they pull into Mal-soon’s neighborhood, his stomach twists into knots. He hasn’t seen his stepmother in years now. Not since everything fell apart. He isn’t sure how to react– or how she might react, even knowing he was coming to stay with her for the time being. 

She opens the door before Jun-ho can even knock. And when she sees him, she doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t say a word. Just throws her arms around him with a strength that seems to surprise them both. He stands stiffly for a moment, unsure how to react until his body finally moves, reacting to her familiar warmth. His hands lift slowly until he’s hugging her back just as tight. She’s trembling, laughing, and crying all at once. The sound of it cracks something inside his chest. He hadn’t realized just how much he missed this. How much he needed this. 

For the next few days, the house fills with a rhythm that’s familiar, but at the same time, foreign to him. Growing up, he was always the one helping around the house. Cooking, cleaning, managing things when Mal-soon worked late. Taking care of the household. Taking care of Jun-ho.

Now, it’s Jun-ho slipping into that role. He’s helping Mal-soon cook, shouldering the cleaning without being asked, and he keeps an eye on In-ho– the same way In-ho used to keep an eye on him. It leaves In-ho feeling a bit disoriented, raw. But grateful at the same time.

Mal-soon chats with him sometimes. Asks him gentle questions, or rambles about her neighbors or the weather. She never presses him– she’s always been good about that. She’s good at reading people’s moods, at knowing when to give them space. Especially when it comes to In-ho. Most of the time she just sits silently with In-ho. Lets him breathe. Lets him retreat to the porch when he needs a moment to himself.

It’s on the second evening at dusk that Mal-soon finally decides to join him there on the porch. He’s there with his phone clutched tightly in his hand yet again, the screen lighting up his face in the dim light. He has the last text message from Sang-woo still up.

Sang-woo [6:45 PM]: Scans look clear. Will know more by tomorrow morning. 

Mal-soon lowers herself into the chair next to him, sighing softly. For a long moment, she says nothing, sitting quietly next to him as she observes the sinking sun in the horizon. Then, with a quiet certainty, she speaks. “He’ll be alright soon, you know.”

His hand tightens slightly around his phone. She seems to notice, and she reaches over to gently place her hand on his arm. “And so will you, In-ho.” 

In-ho lets out a small breath, hand loosening around the phone. He lifts his head up and finally looks at her, his features softening. She smiles at him.”You’ve carried too much grief for too long. It’s good to see you carrying love again instead.” 

In-ho doesn’t speak– but he doesn’t need to. She holds his gaze for a long moment, as if reading the emotion in his eyes, in the tremble of his breath. She gives him a gentle nod, as if to tell him she understands.

She gives his arm a gentle squeeze before rising and heading back inside. Leaving him with the dusk and fading warmth of her touch.

___________________________

On the third morning, the message comes through just after sunrise. 

In-ho wakes early, restless as usual. The phone buzzes on the night stand a few minutes after he wakes, and his hand quickly flies to the bedside table to grab it. The screen lights up his face in the dark, illuminated by his most recent text from Sang-woo.


Sang-woo [6:57 AM]: Just got confirmation he’ll be released this afternoon. 

For a long moment, In-ho just stares at the message. He reads it over and over until the words finally land, finally begin to feel real. His chest feels strange– light but tight at the same time. Excitement and nervousness curling together.

He goes to Jun-ho’s room soon after, standing in the doorway. Jun-ho is already awake and he doesn’t ask a single question– just takes one look at his face before nodding and grabbing his nearby keys. “Grab your coat. I’ll drive.” 

In-ho nods, and turns to get ready. His hands move on autopilot– zipping up his coat, checking for his phone, making himself look presentable– he doesn’t realize he’s shaking until he leans down to tie his shoes. Just faintly, a tremor in his hands. But enough that he has to pause to tell himself to breathe.

They leave the house soon after. The morning air is cold enough that it clears the fog from his mind. The drive there is mostly quiet– though In-ho is restless. He keeps his gaze fixed on the buildings they pass by, the grey sky, on the stoplights that take too long to change. 

By the time the hospital comes into view, his heart is beating so fast he can feel it in his throat. It feels different this time– not a place of loud beeping machines and forced loneliness like it had been last week. The sterile smell still lingers in the air, but the waiting room is lively, filled with people and their muted conversations along with the distant sounds of footsteps walking through the halls. They sign in at the front desk, and the same woman who was there last time smiles at In-ho knowingly, though In-ho tries to avoid her gaze.

Jun-ho walks him to a seat, squeezing his shoulder and murmuring something about getting more coffee before he leaves him in the waiting area with a promise to return soon if In-ho needed him. 

In-ho sits. Then he stands. Then sits again. 

Minutes stretch. His knee bounces, his fingers drumming against his leg. Anticipation coils tightly in his chest with nowhere to go. Every time a door opens, his head snaps up. And every time, it’s someone else. 

By the time the clock edges towards noon, he’s pacing. Hands deep in his pockets, his shoulders tight, his restlessness clawing at him from the inside. People have started to stare, but he ignores them, instead focusing on his keeping his breathing even so he doesn’t start to panic. Logically, he knows Gi-hun is fine– the doctors wouldn’t release him today otherwise. But the logic does nothing to quiet his mind or the ache in his heart. 

He turns on his heel for another pass across the waiting room when a familiar, bright voice cuts through the hum of the conversations around him.

“Yah– hold still! Your hair’s going in every direction, dear.”

His head snaps up.

A wheelchair is rounding the corner being pushed out into the lobby, the wheels squeaking against the tile. Gi-hun sits in it, a thin hospital blanket bunched around his legs. His hair is messy, longer. His face looks a bit thinner, and the dusting of facial hair there is more prominent than In-ho has ever seen it. Behind him, Yong-sik steers the wheelchair carefully while Geum-ja walks close behind, fussing with Gi-hun’s disheveled hair. 

Gi-hun glances around the room, searching for someone– searching for him. When his tired eyes finally meet In-ho’s own, the room around them blurs out of focus. 

Gi-hun blinks once, as if he’s trying to make sure he isn’t imagining what he sees. Then his entire expression shifts, his eyes bright. His hands move from his lap and grip the armrests as he pushes himself up from the chair as the blanket in his lap pools at his feet. 

“Hey– sir, don’t–” Yong-sik starts, alarmed, but Geum-ja’s hand reaches out to stop him from stepping forward as she shakes her head softly at him. 

Gi-hun manages one step before his foot catches on the fallen blanket. He stumbles forward, his body lurching. 

In-ho’s breath catches, panic shooting through him. His body acts on instinct as he moves towards him in quick, tense steps, his hands raising and ready to catch him.

But Gi-hun catches himself at the last second, regaining his balance in a shaky burst of determination. 

Then– with no warning– he surges forward. Doesn’t walk, but instead launches himself at In-ho.

Gi-hun crashes into him with the full force of someone who’s been waiting an entire week to breathe again. His arms lock around In-ho’s shoulders, squeezing him with a surprising strength that almost knocks the wind out of him.

The force of the hug makes In-ho reel a few steps back, startled from the sheer impact of it, nearly losing his balance. A startled laugh bursts out of him– half-relief, half-disbelief– as his arms come up and instinctively wrap around his waist, pulling him in just as tightly.

Gi-hun buries his face against In-ho’s neck, trembling. In-ho tightens his grip, trying to ground them both as he presses his cheek into Gi-hun’s shoulder.

The warmth of him, the weight of him, the scent of him– like soap and hospital sheets, but there’s something floral and familiar there underneath– hit In-ho so hard that his eyes squeeze shut. He laughs again, breathless as he shakes his head against Gi-hun’s shoulder. Not because anything is funny, but because it’s overwhelming. Because Gi-hun’s clumsy and desperate collision of a hug makes him feel the most alive he has in years.

Gi-hun laughs too, a hot exhale of breath over his neck. The sound vibrates through both of them, relief spilling out in uneven breaths, fear releasing after being carried for so long.

Eventually, Gi-hun’s grip loosens and In-ho does the same. They still stay pressed together, but the hug becomes less frantic and melts into something softer, quieter. Grounding. Gi-hun’s fingers curl into the back of In-ho’s shirt as if he’s trying to confirm the reality of him being there in every small shift of his touch. In-ho is content alone with the weight of Gi-hun in his arms– his final proof that they both made it out, that they’re both here and they’re okay. That they’re alive.

For the first time in days, the ache behind In-ho’s ribs finally eases. Something unwinds within him, and he feels light. 

It’s a long moment before Gi-hun finally pulls back– though, not completely. Just enough to breathe, enough to look at him. His hands still rest on In-ho’s shoulders, his eyes searching his face. 

And then, suddenly, In-ho finds himself very aware of the room around them again. 

The hush hits him like a bucket of ice water. Conversations have gone completely quiet. Every pair of eyes is on them both– nurses, patients, visitors– watching them with shameless curiosity. 

In-ho blinks, completely caught off guard from the sudden awareness of everything. His gaze pulls away from Gi-hun’s face, darting around the room until it lands on Geum-ja. And, of course, she’s beaming at him like she’s watching the finale of her favorite drama come to life right in front of her. Yong-sik is close behind her, but he has enough common decency to look away when In-ho catches him staring. 

Heat crawls up the back of In-ho’s neck, hot and uncomfortable. There’s too many people, too many eyes, too much attention on a moment that was supposed to belong to just the two of them. He clears his throat quietly, leaning in just enough that only Gi-hun can hear him. 

“...Everyone’s staring,” he murmurs, trying to sound casual but failing miserably.

Gi-hun hums in response before he glances around the room– brief, uninterested– and then looks right back at him with a look so fond it borders on devastating. 

“Let them,” he says, softly. Then Gi-hun’s hand lifts, brushing across In-ho’s cheek, his touch almost reverent. His thumb traces over his skin, delicate– like he’s trying to reassure himself that this isn’t another fevered dream, and that In-ho is really here, really real. 

The look in Gi-hun’s eyes is finally what undoes him. Open, unguarded, drinking him in like he’s something precious. Something worth staring at. 

Slowly, In-ho lifts his own hand and lays it over the one cradling his cheek. His fingers curl softly around Gi-hun’s own, holding them there as he leans into the touch, drinking in the warmth of his skin.

But the murmur of the room around them, the eyes still fixed on them, begins to grate against the edges of his awareness. This moment was supposed to be theirs. Private. Not entertainment for people with nothing better to do.

He lets the touch linger just a moment longer before he slowly pulls Gi-hun’s hand away from his face. Gi-hun’s expression immediately shifts. His lips pull into the beginnings of a pout, confusion flickering across his expression as his mouth opens in what is most likely the start of a protest. But In-ho doesn’t give him the chance. 

Instead, he keeps a hold of his hand. He laces their fingers together and gently tugs, guiding him away, to outside of the waiting room and away from the unwanted stares, towards the exit where the late afternoon light spills through the sliding glass doors.

Outside, the air feels clearer. Gi-hun never stops looking at him, his expression open and relieved. He squeezes Gi-hun’s hand tightly. “Where do you want to go?” he asks softly. “What do you want to do? I can call a car– or Jun-ho can pick us up.”

Gi-hun shakes his head immediately. “No– please. No car,” he says, almost desperately, his voice rough from disuse. “I’ve been cooped up for too long. Can we just… walk?”

In-ho smiles at him softly and nods his head. “Yes. Absolutely. Whatever you want. Wherever you want to go.”

Gi-hun smiles at him, but then his expression shifts, almost sheepish like he’s expecting to be teased. “Would it be crazy if I said I’d like to go to my shop? Before anything else.”

In-ho blinks. Of all the places he could have said– the park, the cafe, his own home, anywhere else– that’s not what he expected. “The shop?” 

Gi-hun nods at him almost shyly. “...Yeah.” 

In-ho studies him for a beat, his surprise fading into something gentler. “No,” he says quietly. “Not crazy at all.” He squeezes his hand again. “If that’s where you want to go, then we’ll go.” 

They start down the walkway, hands still linked as they walk in rhythm together. The hospital fades behind them slowly. Every now and then, their shoulders bump casually, lightly. Not by accident.

In-ho glances over, catching Gi-hun staring at him, unabashedly. Not subtly, not shyly, just staring like he’s trying to memorize every line and inch of his face. 

In-ho clears his throat gently before looking away. “If you keep staring at me and not in front of you, you’re going to run into something.”

Gi-hun laughs, but doesn’t look away. If anything, he presses closer to In-ho, their shoulders brushing together. “Worth it,” he says quietly, just under his breath. 

The words pull a quiet but amused huff of air from In-ho. He finds himself pressing closer to Gi-hun too. The warmth, the closeness– it all feels unreal. Like something he wasn’t supposed to have, especially after a week of hell. But has now, anyway. 

They walk a little further like that, pressing in close, quiet. Content just to feel each other’s presence. But eventually, In-ho finds himself wondering, a question that nags on the edges of his mind. His smile softens and, interrupting their comfortable silence, he finally asks, “When did you know?”

Gi-hun blinks at him. “What do you mean?”

“When you realized you had Hanahaki,” In-ho says, his voice surprisingly steady. “For me.”

Gi-hun’s eyebrows knit together for a moment as he thinks, his thumb unconsciously brushing gently against the back of In-ho’s hand. “It was that night at the bar– the first time you came out with us,” he decides. “When you gave me your lighter.” 

In-ho’s head turns slightly towards him at that. He’s a little surprised, but he doesn’t interrupt. 

“I wasn’t exactly oblivious to my feelings before that,” Gi-hun continues. “But when your car drove off that night…” He gives a small laugh, shaking his head. “I coughed up some flower petals in my hand. Then later that night, when I got home, a whole hydrangea flower. That’s when I realized it was… something more serious.” 

In-ho’s steps slow. “So the hydrangea was your first?”

Gi-hun nods. “Yeah. It was a big one, too. Hurt like hell coming up.” Gi-hun sighs. “But you know, thinking back on it– I think it might have started a lot earlier than that night.”

In-ho raises an eyebrow at him. “How much earlier?”

Gi-hun looks a bit embarrassed for a moment, his eyes flicking to the ground before returning to look at In-ho. “I… think I may have started seeing petals around two weeks after we started working together.”

In-ho stops walking entirely. He looks at Gi-hun with wide eyes. “Two weeks?” he repeats, stunned. “You barely even knew me.”

Gi-hun’s expression is sincere, and even perhaps a little vulnerable as he looks at him. “I know,” he says softly, shrugging. “But that’s when it started. I didn’t understand it then, but I just felt… drawn to you. And so did my lungs, apparently.” 

In-ho hums, squeezing his hand a little tighter, laughing fondly under his breath.

They walk a few more feet before Gi-hun nudges him gently with his shoulder. “Alright,” he says smiling. “Your turn. When did you know then?”

In-ho lets out a slow breath, thinking back– really thinking. “I think the first time I saw the petals,” he starts, “was the same night you coughed up the hydrangea.”

Gi-hun blinks at him. “Wait– seriously?”

“Yes.” There’s a faint smile on In-ho’s lips. “There was one stuck to the cuff of my jacket. I barely even noticed it. Until they kept showing up. On my clothes. In my hair. In my bed.” he shakes his head a little. “I thought I was going crazy.”

Gi-hun watches him with an incredulous look.

“But I realized I had Hanahaki the day I got sick.” In-ho’s breath hitches slightly, though not in pain, just in memory. “I threw up daisy petals in the bathroom while you stood outside with a glass of water.” He huffs out a small laugh. “You were completely oblivious.” 

Gi-hun’s grip on his hand tightens and his eyes widen. “You were sick with it then?”

“Yes,” In-ho says quietly. “It…caught me by surprise. I clearly didn’t know what to do.”

There’s a beat of silence before Gi-hun makes a small noise, things clicking into place in his mind. “So that was why… you disappeared, then.” His tone isn’t accusatory. It’s soft, understanding. But it still hits something tender inside In-ho. Guilt unfurls in his chest.

“Yes,” he admits, exhaling as his gaze dips to the pavement below for a moment. “That was why.” He pauses. “But… I was overwhelmed too.” 

They both slow to a stop as they reach a crosswalk. Gi-hun says nothing, but his thumb strokes across the top of In-ho’s hand again, deliberately this time. As if to tell him to keep going. In-ho exhales again. 

“It had just been the anniversary of my wife’s death,” he says, eyes closing. “And I wasn’t expecting any of this. Any of… you.” His voice falters a bit at the end, but he keeps going. “So I tried to convince myself that you didn’t– that you couldn’t possibly feel the same. That I needed the surgery.”

Gi-hun’s fingers tighten around In-ho’s own. Comforting, grounding. The simple squeeze makes something heavy inside In-ho loosen. Tension he’s been carrying for far too long. 

Without thinking, he lifts their joined hands.

Gi-hun’s breath hitches– not in surprise, but in anticipation– as In-ho draws their hands towards his face. He doesn’t kiss the skin there, doesn’t linger. He simply lets his lips brush softly over the back of Gi-hun’s hand. 

His voice is low when it comes out, murmured against warm skin. “Obviously,” he says, his breath hot against Gi-hun’s knuckles, “I was wrong to think you didn’t feel the same.” 

He lets their hands fall back to a natural clasp between them as they step off the curb and begin to walk across the crosswalk. In-ho finds himself glancing over just to see Gi-hun already looking at him again. But this time he isn’t just looking, no. Staring. There’s something almost awestruck in his expression. Soft, and unguarded. Like that small brush of lips against his hand was enough to knock the breath out of him. 

The intensity of the stare is enough to fluster In-ho for a moment– but he doesn’t let it show. He keeps his face composed, unreadable. But something knots at the base of his throat. 

Because that look makes him ache. A subtle sadness creeps in. All this time, all this fear, silence, and distance between them for nothing. When they could have had this. When they could have been walking like this together months ago. 

He exhales slowly, his gaze drifting forward as they walk. “...All that wasted time,” he says softly. “Both of us sick, wanting the same thing.” He shakes his head, his jaw clenching. “There were so many times I wanted to tell you but I just… didn’t.” 

Gi-hun hums in agreement, bumping his shoulder against In-ho’s. “Me too,” he admits, sighing. “I kept trying to pick the right time, wanted it to be perfect. Or at least, thought out.” His mouth twists. “I was going to tell you, that day in the coffee shop, you know. That morning.” 

In-ho lets out a breathy laugh at that. “I meant to tell you then, too, actually.” 

Gi-hun stares at him wide eyed. “Wait– seriously?”

“Yes.” In-ho shakes his head. “Then I didn’t. Then Sang-woo cornered me in the shop a few weeks later. Invited me to New Year’s and I thought– this has to be it. It’s now or never.” 

Gi-hun immediately winces, looking away. His entire face scrunches up in embarrassment. “New Year’s,” he mutters. “Shit. I was going to tell you then, too. And then I… clearly messed that up for both of us showing up as drunk as I did.”

In-ho shakes his head firmly, squeezing Gi-hun’s hand. “You didn’t mess anything up.” 

Gi-hun looks at him, clearly unconvinced

In-ho sighs. “You.. clearly caught me off guard, yes. But mostly, I was just worried I’d cough flowers in front of everyone.” His mouth twitches. “And you were kind of all over me. It made it much harder.”

A groan escapes Gi-hun. “Was I really that bad?” His tone sounds mortified. 

In-ho doesn’t answer. Just gives him a single, meaningful look that says more than enough.

Gi-hun’s reaction is immediate. He turns his face away, the tips of his ears burning bright red as his free hand comes up to cover his face. He groans again as if he’s reliving the memory in vivid, humiliating detail. 

Without meaning to, In-ho lets a quiet laugh slip out at watching the other man’s reaction. Not mean or mocking. Just soft. Fond.

Gi-hun exhales slowly, though his embarrassment still lingers in the pink flush of his face. Their hands still stay linked, shoulders brushing again as their steps fall back into rhythm.

But after a few moments, Gi-hun starts to fidget, tracing shapes against In-ho’s knuckles. It’s subtle, but persistent enough that In-ho finally glances over at him, brow raising.

Gi-hun catches the look, hesitates, before then clearing his throat softly.

“That day, “ he says finally. “When…you found me. Were you planning on confessing then too?” 

In-ho blinks at him. “You remember that I was the one who found you?”

“Of course I do.” Gi-hun’s voice softens. “I remember seeing your face before everything went fuzzy. Heard you saying my name.” 

In-ho feels something tight pull in his chest. 

Gi-hun swallows slowly, then adds, quieter, “And… the reason I started coughing in the first place was because I saw you. Leaving– it caught me so off guard, it was enough to trigger the whole thing.” 

In-ho’s steps falter for a moment. Gi-hun had seen him leaving. He hadn’t realized, not even for a moment, that Gi-hun could have seen him. That simply the sight of him was enough to cause everything that happened. He had honestly hoped that Gi-hun hadn’t remembered him being there at all.

Because the truth of why he was there presses up against his ribs, tight and unwelcome. What is he supposed to say? I actually wasn’t there to check on you, or see you at all. I was there to disappear.

He doesn’t know how to explain that without ruining this moment between them. This moment they’ve both waited so long for. He knows he needs to tell him. He doesn’t know if he wants to. If he will.

He exhales slowly, before deciding to give what piece of the truth he can for now. “I wasn’t there to confess,” In-ho admits finally, voice low. “I was there for… something else. Something that doesn’t matter now.”

Gi-hun’s brow furrows. “What do you mean–” he starts, before In-ho shakes his head at him, cutting him off. 

“In the end, I was in the right place at the right time,” he says. 

Gi-hun’s expression softens for a moment, but something flashes in his eyes. The corners of his mouth tug downwards and he looks dissatisfied with the answer. His expression screams that he knows In-ho is dodging something. There’s a question on his lips, something that he nearly gives voice to, that In-ho braces for. 

But then, a familiar storefront comes into view and their pace slows.

Gi-hun stops walking, his hand going slack for a moment before it tightens again. 

The question, for the moment, is forgotten. In-ho hopes it stays that way, because he has no idea how to explain it. How to tell him how close he got to losing him for good. 

When they reach the door, Gi-hun’s hand finally slips from In-ho’s grasp as he pushes it open. The loss is instantaneous, his hand flexing a few times by his side as a small hollow ache settles in his chest before he manages to school his expression. 

Gi-hun steps inside the threshold, In-ho close behind him. The smell of the shop hits him first– the familiar scent of soil and greenery washing over him– but he can’t take his eyes off Gi-hun.

Gi-hun’s entire body seems to relax the moment he steps inside, like someone returning home after being away for so long. His breath leaves him in a shaky exhale, and there’s softness in his face that wasn’t there before. Relief.

But the moment is short-lived.

A loud crash echoes from the counter, and a loud voice splits the air around them:

“GI-HUN!” 

Jung-bae practically flies out from behind the counter, eyes wide and shining. Gi-hun barely has time to react before he’s engulfed in a hug that looks like it hurts.

“Yah– Jung-bae–” Gi-hun manages to wheeze out in surprise, but it only makes Jung-bae tighten his arms more.

“I’m so glad you’re okay– they wouldn’t let me in to see you after everything happened. I’ve been so stressed and worried sick but you’re here! You’re standing!” He squeezes him again before pulling back enough to look at him, his expression shifting to something more serious. “Don’t ever do that again. You asshole!” 

Gi-hun laughs breathlessly before hugging him back. “I missed you too.” 

Sang-woo steps out from the back room then, wiping his hands on a towel. His eyes land on Gi-hun and Jung-bae first, relief flooding his expression. Then he glances at In-ho. Their gazes meet and Sang-woo gives him a small, respectful nod that In-ho returns. 

Sang-woo moves to Gi-hun, a gentle hand on his shoulder and the other man turns to him, smiling. He leans down and says something in Gi-hun’s ear that In-ho doesn’t quite catch. He only watches as Sang-woo gestures with a nod of his head towards the backroom,  and Gi-hun nods at him. He takes a step forward to speak to them– or, at least, he tries to.

He makes it two steps before he’s suddenly grabbed. Thick arms wrap around him tightly– Jung-bae’s arms– as he’s pulled into a fierce hug.

In-ho immediately stiffens, completely caught off guard and unsure how to react. 

Jung-bae doesn’t seem to notice. “I’m so glad you’re okay too, In-ho,” he exclaims loudly, his voice cracking with emotion. “The both of you– I swear, I feel like I’ve aged ten years worrying about you two.”

In-ho lifts one hand and gives a few awkward pats to the back of Jung-bae’s back. “Ah– well. I… appreciate the concern.”

Jung-bae pulls back from him just enough to look at him. “Concern?! I thought you two were both gonna die. I was losing my mind. Sang-woo practically had to drag me out of the hospital–”

“Mmm,” In-ho hums, politely attempting to disengage from the other man. Jung-bae does not let go. 

“I just can’t even imagine– you guys had to cough up entire root systems–”

“I don’t have to imagine,” In-ho says quickly, “I lived it.” 

“Ah, yeah that’s true,” Jung-bae says, looking a bit sheepish. “Do you feel okay now? You know, you look a bit pale. So did Gi-hun. Are you sure you guys should be walking around? Did you guys have lunch? I could pick something up–”

In-ho desperately tries to follow the stream of words, but can’t help his eyes flicking away from the other man and to the back room, where the door is ajar.

Sang-woo and Gi-hun are nowhere to be seen. He didn’t see them slip away, too distracted by Jung-bae who still hasn’t let him go. 

“Gi-hun,” In-ho says, gently prying the other man off of him. “I should… check on him.” 

“Oh, yeah–” Jung-bae says, quickly stepping back. “I should probably wipe the counters or… something. Oh, and if you guys want some tea or anything–”

In-ho stops listening, Jung-bae’s voice simply fading to a background noise. Too focused on wanting to see Gi-hun, on whatever Sang-woo and him are talking about that he missed.

But when he pushes through the door, he’s not met with the sounds of hushed conversation like he expects, no. Instead, bickering. Familiar and light.

Gi-hun stands at the far counter, his back turned to In-ho as he enters. One of his hands is braced against the table, the other gesturing sharply at something in front of him. Sang-woo stands next to him, a patient look on his face that is clearly beginning to fray.

“I drew it differently,” Gi-hun insists, tapping the paper in front of him with his finger. “Look– this flower doesn’t look good right here, the colors are uneven–”

“Gi-hun, it looks exactly like the drawing you gave me,” Sang-woo counters flatly, his arms crossing. “The flowers just sat a little differently. You’re being too dramatic–”

“I’m not being dramatic– this is important!” Gi-hun snaps back, before he huffs. “Honestly, just hand me the scissors, I’ll trim it to fit better.”

Sang-woo rolls his eyes, but pushes the scissors closer to Gi-hun who snatches them up without looking at him. He leans forward, clearly focusing on the arrangement that’s in front of him, and In-ho finds himself stepping forward, curious. 

Sang-woo immediately notices him, his posture straightening, the annoyed look dropping from his expression. Gi-hun, however, continues to fuss with the flowers in front of him, mumbling about colors and angles as if nothing else exists around him.

It’s…oddly endearing. The sight is so familiar to In-ho, and yet this time he really allows himself to take the other man in. 

“What has you so worked up?” In-ho asks after a moment of observing him. 

Gi-hun startles– actually jumps a little– whirling around so fast he nearly knocks a few empty vases off the counter.

“Wait– wait, hold on. Give me a second, please–” he sputters, eyes wide like he’s been caught doing something that he wasn’t ready to explain.

In-ho’s curiosity gets the better of him, and he steps forward anyway. 

And then, he sees it. 

The arrangement on the counter isn’t large, isn’t dramatic. It sits in a glass vase– nothing ornate or too distracting. Simple, clear– letting the flowers inside it speak for themselves.

And they do.

The burgundy scabiosas sit up the tallest, their dark color drawing the eye in first. White daisies are tucked close besides them, like soft breaths of light breaking up the darker tones. Purple hyacinths curve along one side, their clustered petals adding a fullness, filling out the arrangement in a way the piece needs.

Braided throughout the piece are Gi-hun’s flowers. Clusters of pink hydrangea sit in the center of the piece, full and large. Grounding. Yellow pansies peek out between the blooms, like small bursts of warmth that guide the eye throughout the entire piece. The white begonias arc gently across one side, their petals so smooth they almost look carved. 

It’s nothing like the frantic bouquet he shoved together the night he nearly died trying to confess. Not an explosion of emotion and panic.

This one is gentle. None of it clashes, none of it is overwhelming. Every stem is placed with care. It’s almost too much– seeing their flowers together like this. Remade into something so steady. Intentional. Loving.

His breath stutters. For a long moment, In-ho can’t move. Can only stare as the world around him narrows to this vase. To the way his chest aches, but not unpleasantly. Suddenly the roots that had once strangled him seem so far away. Like they belonged to someone else entirely. 

It hits him then, sudden and deep, that this is what surviving feels like. Looks like. That this is for him. Made by someone who cares about every detail. By someone thoughtful. By Gi-hun.

Before he can find his words, before he can trust his voice not to break, Gi-hun clears his throat softly. “I, uh… gave Sang-woo the drawing. I did it in the hospital,” he says, voice sounding smaller than usual. “I had him make it, since I couldn’t. I wanted to remake the one you brought me. The one you–” He hesitates, his eyes flicking down. “The one that you made when you confessed to me.”  He laughs quietly, but it’s nervous and unsteady. “It got ruined. On the floor when you… collapsed. It didn’t feel right. Just leaving it like that. Not when it’s the entire reason we’re both here now.” 

Sang-woo gives Gi-hun’s shoulder a small squeeze– then slips past the both of them without a word. The door shuts softly behind him. Leaving them alone.

Gi-hun shifts from foot to foot, a hand coming to rub the back of his neck. He keeps glancing between the arrangement and In-ho, his breath coming in shallow. Like he’s excited to show this to him, but also nervous of his reaction.

In-ho steps closer.

His fingers lift, hovering in the air for a heartbeat before they brush gently against one of the petals. Just enough to feel its softness, to feel that it’s real. Tangible. The arrangement stays still, but In-ho does not. Something in him gives completely. Loosens, and melts.

“...It’s beautiful,” In-ho manages, his voice betraying him by cracking right through the middle of the word. 

Gi-hun’s reaction is instant. His breath catches, shoulders easing as relief floods his face. “Yeah?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. Like he’s still unsure if In-ho is being truthful, like he’s hoping for too much. 

In-ho nods once, slow. “...Yes. You did it justice. It’s much better than anything I could have done.”

The words land like a spark between them. 

Gi-hun moves closer, hesitant but still drawn forward– like the gravity between them suddenly shifts. The small movement pulls them into the same breath, the same warmth. Their hands rest on the counter, their fingers brushing slightly in a way that sends something sharp and electric up In-ho’s spine. 

In-ho looks up, and Gi-hun is already looking at him. 

His eyes are wide, bright. Shining with equal part nerves and anticipation– like he’s bracing himself for whatever In-ho does next. 

The distance between them is nothing now. Their foreheads could touch if one of them leaned forward even a fraction. In-ho catches a flicker in Gi-hun’s gaze– down to his lips then back up again. Not subtle. Not accidental. 

In-ho’s heart gives one loud, traitorous thump, betraying his own nerves. He swallows hard.

He leans in, slowly. His hand on the counter lifts, before settling over Gi-hun’s. His palm covers Gi-hun’s hand, warm and enveloping. A quiet claim.

Gi-hun inhales sharply. Then he mirrors him, fingers curling underneath In-ho’s, leaning forward to meet him in the middle.

The space between their mouths narrows down to a whisper. Anticipation coils low in In-ho’s stomach. Warm breath. Close enough for him to feel it ghost across his lips. Close enough to–

“Hey, uh– Sang-woo and I were going to pick up food if either of you–”

Jung-bae stops dead in the doorway. Completely freezes.

His eyes go wide as he registers what he sees. “Oh– oh no–” he blurts, before he turns his head away, trying to avoid looking at them. “Shit– wait, sorry not shit, but– sorry! I’m sorry! I didn’t see– or rather I didn’t mean to–” But it’s already too late.

Gi-hun jerks away so fast that he bumps into the table behind him, nearly knocking over a small watering can. In-ho pulls away too, slower but sharp, the loss of warmth hitting him almost physically. 

The moment between them shatters. Cold air rushes between the two of them. In-ho’s pulse spikes with annoyance– hot, immediate, and involuntary. He keeps his face carefully neutral, but when he looks at Jung-bae he finds that he wants to strangle him with the nearby ribbon. He forces himself to keep his posture even.

Gi-hun, next to him, rubs the back of his neck. His face is still pink, but he lets out a tiny laugh– soft, nervous, but undeniably fond. Like he’s embarrassed, yes, but not bothered. Not upset or thrown off. He throws a sideways glance at In-ho, his expression gentle. It makes the irritation In-ho feels dissipate– but just barely. 

Jung-bae, who is still mortified by his accidental intrusion, clears his throat from the doorway before he tries again. “I swear, I just was just coming in to ask if you wanted lunch,” his voice cracks but he continues on. “And uh, Sang-woo said he had something for you, In-ho. Before we left.”

In-ho furrows his brow, confused. He gives Gi-hun another glance as if to ask him what Sang-woo might have. Gi-hun simply shrugs at him. 

In-ho exhales through his nose. “Fine.”

Gi-hun catches his eye as he passes Jung-bae– still flustered, still pink, but he offers him a warm smile, small, that says clearly: It’s okay. We’re okay. We’ve got time. 

Sang-woo stands at the front counter as In-ho exits. His hands are clasped in front of him and he looks up as In-ho approaches him, something almost cautious in his expression.

“In-ho,” he says calmly, before he reaches into the drawer beneath the register. “Here.” He places two objects into In-ho’s hand. 

The spare key to the shop. And an envelope. 

His envelope. The letter he left Gi-hun that day when he found him collapsed. The day he planned to leave. The envelope is creased from being handled, neatly slit open at the top. 

His breath catches in his throat. He slowly looks up at Sang-woo, face paling.

Sang-woo meets his stare without flinching. “When I came to the shop after everything, I saw it on the counter,” he explains calmly. “I thought it was something else until I opened it. I… apologize.” 

In-ho swallows hard, before he shakes his head. “You didn’t know. It’s okay.”

Sang-woo stares at him for a moment before he continues. “I wasn’t sure what to do with it. I didn’t want to put it with his things, so I hid it. I thought it was best that… you decide what happens to it.”

In-ho understands what he means by that. This letter– his apology. It’s In-ho’s to bear. Whether he wants to burn it, tuck it away out of sight, or give it to Gi-hun. That choice is his. 

In-ho swallows thickly, closing his hand around the envelope and key. 

“Whatever you decide to do,” Sang-woo says softly. “I’ll support it. I won’t say anything.” Then Sang-woo steps back, Jung-bae joining him, looking confused but knowing better than to ask. 

In-ho nods once, barely. “Thank you,” he manages.

Sang-woo gives a small, almost imperceptible nod then turns towards the door. Jung-bae hesitates for a beat, eyes flicking between the two of them, concern tugging at his brow, before Sang-woo gestures for him to follow. He quickly falls in step behind Sang-woo, giving In-ho a small, awkward little wave as the door jingles shut behind them. 

In-ho remains standing there, fingers clenched around the two items in his hand. They’re light, weightless, but for some reason they feel heavy in his hand. Heavy with the things he almost did, heavy with guilt. 

He could tuck it away, burn it the next chance he got. Never mention it again, pretend it never existed. Pretend that version of himself– the one ready to vanish– was someone he no longer recognized. He could burn it. Let the flames swallow whole the evidence of who he almost became. 

The temptation tugs at him.

Gi-hun doesn’t have to know about this part. Not after everything. And In-ho had managed to dodge the truth earlier– maybe this was his chance to let this part completely disappear entirely. To leave it in the past where it belongs. 

But the idea of lying– of keeping something this big from Gi-hun– it sits wrong in his chest. Too familiar. Too much like he used to be– of who he was trying to not be anymore. 

A hand touches his shoulder. Without meaning to, he startles, flinching.

“Hey,” Gi-hun’s voice is soft beside him, his hand squeezing his shoulder gently, grounding him. In-ho turns to look at him, and he’s smiling softly at him. “You okay? I started to think maybe Jung-bae and Sang-woo kidnapped you to go get lunch or something,” he teases, softly nudging him with an elbow. His gaze drops to In-ho’s hand, and he raises his eyebrows. “Ah. Your spare key– is that what Sang-woo was giving you?” 

Before In-ho has a chance to answer, Gi-hun’s eye catches on the envelope. 

“Wait, what’s that?” he asks, curious. “A letter?” His smile widens. “No way. Don’t tell me– a love confession? Maybe one of the nurses in the hospital couldn’t get you out of her mind. Can’t say I blame her.” He laughs under his breath, light and bright.

In-ho says nothing. He swallows thickly, audibly. Gi-hun catches it and the laugh immediately dies on his lips.

Confusion flickers across his face. Then, concern. “In-ho?” His voice drops. “...What’s wrong? What is that?”

In-ho doesn’t trust his own voice. So instead, he extends the envelope to him.

Gi-hun takes it slowly from him, brows knitting in confusion as he turns it over in his hand and sees his name written on the front. He stares at it for a long moment before he opens the envelope. Unfolds the letter. 

His shoulders stiffen as he reads. In-ho watches him closely, unease settling in his stomach. 

Gi-hun’s face falls– slowly at first, then all at once as he finishes reading. The confusion on his face turns into something else– something more raw, vulnerable. Hurt. “This… is yours? You wrote this?” 

His head tilts down as he reads the page again, slower this time, as if trying to understand it differently. His grip tightens on the paper, creasing it between his fingers. In-ho fights the urge to pull the paper from his grasp. To rip it from Gi-hun’s hands, hide it, crumple it, burn it. Anything to keep that look off his face. 

His mouth opens for a moment– some desperate excuse already forming, something meaningless like it isn’t what it looks like, or I didn’t mean it. Anything to stop the tremble in Gi-hun’s jaw.

But he can’t lie. Not now.

“You were really…” Gi-hun hesitates, taking a shaky breath, his eyes darting over the words again before he lifts them to meet In-ho’s. “You were really going to leave?”

In-ho holds his gaze for a beat before looking away. “...I was.” 

Gi-hun’s breath stutters. “In-ho–”

“But I didn’t leave,” he adds quickly, like it’ll help, like it’ll fix everything. “Obviously. I’m here.” He gestures faintly around the shop. Around them.

Gi-hun’s jaw tightens, the worry still creasing his features. The hurt there isn’t loud or dramatic– but it’s there. Quiet. Deep. The sight of it hits In-ho like a punch. Sharp, nauseating to know that he’s the one who caused it. 

If he had gone through with it, if he had vanished then like he had meant to…

It would have destroyed him. Destroyed them.

Gi-hun forces a shaky exhale, folding the letter in his hand. “When… when did you bring this here?” he asks, his voice stern but trembling around the edges. “When did you write this?”

In-ho swallows hard. “That day that I found you,” he says. “In the back room.”

Gi-hun goes completely still. In-ho presses on gently.

“I wasn’t looking for you, then,” In-ho continues. “I was going to leave. I was going to go back. To the games. Back to… them.” A beat. “I thought it was the only choice I had left. The only way to survive.”

Gi-hun’s eyes widen, alarm flaring across his face. “Those people– the same people who hurt Jung-bae? The ones that hurt you, put you through hell? You’re in contact with them again?”

“I was, but not now,” In-ho says. “Not anymore.” 

“But you were,” Gi-hun presses, desperate. “What if they come back? To find you–”

“They would have made themselves known by now,” In-ho interjects quickly. “I don’t have anything they want anymore. Anything they can hold over my head.” 

Gi-hun doesn’t look reassured. Not even a little. “I just… I don’t understand. Why?” he asks. “I get thinking I didn’t feel the same but… why there? Why go back to them?”

Silence settles between them. In-ho feels the real answers pressing against the base of his throat. Because I was scared. Because the only thing that made me feel human, that I was good, was you, was this shop– but my feelings got too big to ignore. I wanted something I had no right to have. And somehow, going back to the worst place in the world felt easier than staying somewhere that I wanted too much. 

Instead, all he can manage to get out is a quiet and strained: “...I don’t know.” 

Gi-hun’s expression tightens. Confusion. Raw. That same hurt again. He turns his face away from In-ho, trying to hide. 

In-ho moves without thinking. A small step forward, his hand reaching out and gently grasping Gi-hun’s, curling his fingers around his. Gi-hun startles at the contact, but doesn’t pull away. Still doesn’t look at him. 

In-ho tightens his grip slightly. “But I didn’t go,” he says, his voice steady. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.” 

A broken sound– something bordering on a sob– escapes Gi-hun’s mouth. In-ho’s heart lurches in his chest at the noise. “But what if I hadn’t been there that day?” he asks. “What if you left before I even–”

“But you were,” In-ho says firmly. “You were there. And I stayed. And now we’re here– isn’t that what matters?”

Gi-hun’s breath shudders out of him. His fingers tighten around In-ho’s own like he’s afraid to let go of him. 

“Gi-hun…” he says his name so softly it barely feels spoken at all. He loosens his grip on his hand and instead brings it to his face, letting it settle softly against his cheek. He gently coaxes the other man to turn his head, a thumb brushing softly beneath his eye.

Gi-hun finally looks at him. His eyes are glassy. Not quite crying, but close enough that it shatters something tender inside of In-ho’s chest. 

“I’m sorry,” In-ho murmurs, the apology slipping out from the sight of his watery eyes. His thumb sweeps under his eye again, slow and soothing. “I’m so sorry.” 

Gi-hun stares at him, his expression a mix of emotions– hurt, fear, love– before he lets out a trembling breath. He deflates a bit, leaning into In-ho’s touch, his hand coming up to cover In-ho’s gently. Holding him there like he needs it there to stay upright. 

“You have to promise,” Gi-hun whispers. “You can’t just… disappear again. Not like before, and not like that. Even if things get hard, or you’re scared. You don’t leave– you don’t go back to those people. You can’t.” His voice cracks at the end. 

In-ho’s throat tightens, but he nods. “Okay. I won’t,” he says. “I promise. I won’t leave. Not like that. Not ever again.” 

Gi-hun closes his eyes for a moment, relief visibly trembling through him. He presses his cheek more firmly into In-ho’s palm, almost like he’s anchoring himself to the warmth there. A small unsteady breath escapes him. 

“Okay,” he murmurs. “Okay.”

Gi-hun’s hand is warm over his own. Steady, despite the tremor in his breathing. His thumb brushes across In-ho’s hand. Softly, barely there. The small touch unravels something in In-ho. The hurt is still there in Gi-hun’s eyes, but it’s softened– tempered by trust, by the relief that settles across his features. And without thinking about it, without letting himself second-guess, In-ho steps closer. Just a small shift of his body.

Gi-hun mirrors him instantly, like he’s been waiting for it this entire time. Like the space between them was meant to shrink all along. 

They’re close now. Closer than they were in the back room. Their breaths mix, soft and shared. The warmth of their bodies pressed close. 

This time, In-ho’s eyes flick down. Once, quickly. To Gi-hun’s lips. 

And Gi-hun sees it, feels it, if the tiny tremor in his soft exhale means anything. 

“Gi-hun,” In-ho starts, voice low and breathless. “Is it okay–” 

Gi-hun leans forward and closes the gap between them before In-ho can even finish. 

The kiss collides more than it lands, Gi-hun too eager, too clumsy, too him. It catches In-ho off guard, a startled sound escaping him. Something halfway between a gasp and a soft laugh against Gi-hun’s mouth. Gi-hun pulls back, just enough for their lips to brush, a sheepish grin breaking across his face. 

“Sorry,” he whispers, breath hot against In-ho’s mouth. “I just–”

This time, In-ho doesn’t let him finish.

He leans back in, capturing his mouth again but slower this time, steadying them both. Gi-hun melts into him instantly. This kiss is softer, surer. A soft press, then another. They find a rhythm that feels familiar even though it shouldn’t. It’s been a long time since In-ho has kissed anyone. Longer than he lets himself think about. 

He can tell it’s been awhile for Gi-hun too– the way his breath hitches, the way he seems to follow every movement like he doesn’t want to mess anything up.

But it comes back to both of them, slowly and naturally. 

Because of course, kissing Gi-hun is easy. Just like being near him is easy. Just like loving him is easy. 

In-ho’s hand slides from Gi-hun’s cheek and along his jaw before curling at the back of his neck. His fingers thread through the hair there, gently angling him down and drawing him closer. Gi-hun makes a soft sound– something pleased– and his arms come up to wrap around In-ho’s middle.

The warmth of their bodies pressed together floods through In-ho’s chest, down his spine. Grounding and dizzying all at once. 

When they finally part, the space between them stays small. Just an inch between them, and In-ho doesn’t go far. His hand slips from Gi-hun’s neck, fingers trailing down the line of his throat before it settles against his waist, keeping him close. Keeping him there.

Gi-hun’s forehead rests against his for a beat, their breaths still mingling. Then, a soft and breathy laugh escapes him. 

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he murmurs voice warm and a little shaky. 

In-ho lets out a breath of a laugh in return. “You’re not the only one.” 

Gi-hun’s cheeks are still flushed pink, lips kiss-swollen, eyes bright in a way that make him look much younger than he is, lighter.

In-ho’s chest tightens, fond at the sight. “Gi-hun,” he says quietly, reverently. 

Gi-hun meets his eyes, and there’s no hurt there anymore. Just warmth. Unmistakable affection.

“I love you.” There’s no flowers in his lungs to stop him this time when he says it. No petals cutting him off mid sentence. The words slip out certain and steady– like they’ve been sitting on his tongue for months now, simply waiting for permission to be spoken. 

For a heartbeat, Gi-hun just stares, eyes wide and shining. 

And then slowly, he smiles. Soft and wide– his smile. The one he only ever reserves for In-ho.

Seeing it, he feels something settle inside of him. A quiet assurance that he hasn’t known for a long time. A feeling like everything is going to be okay. 

And for the first time in forever, he allows himself to believe it.