Chapter Text
The scent of the flower shop lingered in the air long after Wooyoung’s first visit. He couldn’t shake it. The soft vanilla mixed with the fresh floral notes, a fragrance that seemed to settle into his skin. It had become something of a sensory memory for him, like the feel of paint beneath his fingers or the way his cane tapped against the pavement. But there was more than just the smell; there was something about San that stuck with him, too. It wasn’t just the flowers. It was San’s gentle way of speaking, his kindness, his touch. That day in the shop had awakened something in Wooyoung, a kind of curiosity he hadn’t expected.
Seonghwa had arranged for another meeting. Wooyoung still needed to gather more sensory input for his project, after all. He didn’t mind; he’d wanted to see San again anyway.
The second time Wooyoung arrived at San’s flower shop, he felt more at ease. The bell above the door chimed again, its familiar sound welcoming him. He reached out instinctively, running his hand along the cool wood of the doorframe, tracing the slight grooves in the woodwork before stepping inside. The warmth of the shop contrasted with the cool air outside, wrapping around him like a blanket.
This time, he was ready.
“Wooyoung,” San greeted him warmly from behind the counter. The sound of his voice was like a soft hum that reverberated through the shop.
“I’ve been waiting for you.”
Wooyoung smiled at the way San said it. There was no urgency, no rush, just a quiet anticipation, as if San had all the time in the world. The shop was filled with the faint rustling of leaves and the soft flutter of petals being shifted. He could hear San’s movements clearly, the rustle of his apron, the light steps as he came closer.
“Hey, San,” Wooyoung replied, turning toward the sound of his voice. “Thanks for letting me come by again.”
“Of course. I’m happy to help with your project. Plus, I think you’re starting to really enjoy the flowers,” San teased, his smile audible in his voice.
Wooyoung chuckled, nodding as he carefully walked deeper into the shop. His cane gently tapped the ground in front of him, but San was already close, guiding him by lightly touching his arm. “I think you’re right,” Wooyoung admitted. “It’s... different from what I’m used to.”
San’s light touch lingered on Wooyoung’s sleeve, almost as if he was hesitant to let go. “Come on. I’ve got something special for you to learn today.”
They moved further into the shop, the smell of flowers becoming more intense with each step. Wooyoung could feel the slight humidity in the air, the way the petals must have been freshly misted. There was something intimate about the atmosphere, like the whole world had quieted down, leaving just the two of them in this small, fragrant haven.
“You’re going to love this,” San said, his voice low, laced with excitement. His fingers lingered on Wooyoung’s hand for a moment before guiding it to something cool and soft.
“These are tulips. Feel how smooth the petals are? But here,” He shifted Wooyoung’s hand down, “-the leaves, they’re different. Can you feel the change in texture?”
Wooyoung’s fingertips brushed the petals, delicate and velvety, a softness that felt almost too perfect. He moved his other hand down the stem, feeling the subtle shift from the silky petal to the firmer, rougher leaves beneath. His fingers traced the veins running through the plant, intricate and pulsating with life. “It’s… strange,” Wooyoung murmured, almost in awe.
“How something can feel so different in just a few inches.”
San smiled, watching Wooyoung with a sense of wonder in his own eyes. “That’s the magic of flowers,”
“Each one is a story, a life of its own. Tulips, for example, they’re not just beautiful but they carry deep meaning. Yellow ones like this symbolize happiness, warmth, friendship. But red ones? They’re all about deep, true love.”
“True love?” Wooyoung’s voice was barely above a whisper, his fingers still brushing the delicate petal. There was something so serene, so fragile about it.
San chuckled, the sound light and full of affection. “Yeah, they’re more than just pretty flowers. They’ve been symbols for centuries, messages without words.” He paused, his gaze softening as he added, “They remind me that sometimes, beauty doesn’t have to be seen to be felt. That’s why I love them.”
Wooyoung turned his head toward San’s voice, his own lips curving into a small smile. “You make them sound even more beautiful than I imagined.”
San’s smile grew, his fingers brushing against Wooyoung’s as he adjusted the flower in his hand. “It’s because they are. Each flower is different, but they all have this quiet power, like they’re reaching out to remind us to slow down, to notice the small things. You know, flowers bloom for such a short time, but they still give everything while they’re here.”
Wooyoung nodded, his grip gentle on the tulip. “It’s strange,” he said, his voice soft, “I can’t see them, but I feel like I understand them.”
San’s heart swelled at the words, warmth spreading through his chest. “You do. Maybe even more than people who can see. You feel them in ways most of us never will.” He looked at Wooyoung, feeling a strange connection bloom between them, as fragile and profound as the flower in their hands.
Wooyoung’s fingers brushed the petals, the softness almost surreal against his skin. His other hand moved down the stem, feeling the texture change from soft to slightly rougher as it met the leaves. He felt the veins running through the plant, intricate and alive. He marveled at how something could feel so different in such a short span.
“They’re beautiful,” Wooyoung whispered, even though he couldn’t see them.
“They are. But you make them sound even more beautiful too.”
Wooyoung’s heart skipped at the compliment. He wasn’t used to being praised for the way he experienced the world. Most people pitied him for what he couldn’t see, not admired him for what he could feel. But with San, it was different. There was no pity in his voice, just genuine curiosity and admiration.
As Wooyoung continued to explore the tulips with his hands, he couldn’t help but notice how close San had gotten. He could feel the warmth radiating from him, his presence like a soft, comforting glow. It was strange how much Wooyoung could sense, even without sight. He didn’t need to see San to know how kind he was, how patient. He could feel it in the way San spoke, the way he guided him so gently.
“Do you like working with flowers?” Wooyoung asked, breaking the comfortable silence.
San paused for a moment, then smiled. “I love it. There’s something calming about it. Flowers are so delicate, but they bring so much joy. I guess I like being part of that.”
Wooyoung nodded slowly, still feeling the tulips. “It sounds... peaceful.”
“It is. And it’s also kind of like art, in a way,” San added. “You arrange them, choose the right colors, the right shapes. You give them meaning, just like you do with your paintings.”
Wooyoung tilted his head slightly, considering that. He hadn’t thought of it that way before, but San was right. There was an artistry in everything. Flowers, painting, even the way they were speaking to each other now. It was all part of a greater tapestry of experience.
San watched him closely, his eyes soft as he studied the way Wooyoung interacted with the flowers. There was something pure about Wooyoung, something that made San’s heart ache a little, in a good way. He could see the quiet vulnerability in him, the way his hands moved so carefully, as if he was afraid to break something. But there was also a strength there, a resilience that San admired.
“I brought something else for you to feel,” San said softly, breaking the moment. He took Wooyoung’s hand once again, his touch light and careful, leading him to another display. This time, it was a rose.
“Roses,” San explained. “But be careful of the thorns.”
Wooyoung’s fingers moved slowly, tracing the outline of the petals. They were different from the tulips, more layered, more intricate. He smiled at the complexity of the flower, the way it unfolded in his hands like a secret.
“Beautiful, right?” San asked, his voice soft and almost reverent. Wooyoung nodded, feeling the delicate strength in the petals.
“Yeah,” he whispered. “They really are.”
For a moment, the world felt small again. Just the two of them, surrounded by flowers, the air thick with their fragrance. Wooyoung couldn’t see San’s smile, but he could feel it in the air between them, warm and gentle. And in that moment, Wooyoung knew that he had found something special—not just in the flowers, but in San.