Chapter Text
Mid-June produced a warmer sun to bleed through the tarp of the greenhouse. However, Namjoon paid no mind. His nimble fingers dug into moist soil as he transferred another seed to an egg carton, he drew a snap pea pattern onto, for a reminder of the plant soon to grow. "There." Dusting his hands on his apron, he picked the carton up carefully, relocating to a light wooden shelf which stood as tall as himself, nesting it midway between more cartons with different drawings. Tomatoes just beginning to sprout, overgrown green onions, and radishes labeled "special care!". He admired his work momentarily, turning to study the ceiling with a hand above his eyes, watching the clouds sluggishly pass beneath a brilliant blue sky. It was such a beautiful day. After work he would treat himself to the restaurant mentioned in the daily gossip from regulars, go home, and catch up on reading.
Meditating on thoughts of self-care, a tinkering sounded, signaling an arriving customer. Eagerly, he strode to greet them, setting his eyes on a boy standing in place and looking around. "Hi! Welcome to Love in Floriography." The stranger couldn’t have been more than early twenties, turning to look at Namjoon with wide eyes as he came around the corner. "Can I help you find something?" He remained silent, only shaking his head. Namjoon, feeling awkward, remained optimistic. "Well, if you need anything, please let me know!" With that, Namjoon returned to the counter to let him peruse the shop. He retrieved a couple of clay pots up from under his workstation, along with a packet of seeds, to place on the counter.
As he began to dig his hands back into the soil bag, he was approached. Taken by surprise, he laughed nervously as he dropped the dirt back in and patted his hands against his mulch decorated apron. "Sorry." His eyes fell to the single pink alstroemeria in the customer’s clutch. His brows raised. "Only one?" A single nod. "Okay." He scanned the list he kept taped on the wall for prices he had been meaning to fix; not to raise them, but to adjust them according to the seasons. "Just one flower, and since you seem to be new, I'll give you a discount." The boy seemed unphased by the sale and generosity, only focusing on the flower in his hand. Namjoon didn't want to pass judgement, instead assuming there was a date planned, with nervous hands. He secretly hoped in that scenario it would go well. The customer quickly shoved his empty hand in his pocket and handed over the agreed upon amount. They exchanged the flower for money, the boy bowing to him before rushing out the door, leaving Namjoon to watch his imaginary smoke trail, perplexed. Refocusing, he resumed his work of filling the pot with soil before the phone rang in with an order, having it fixed between his shoulder and ear as he quickly jotted down the customer's notes.
The closed sign clacked against the plastic of the door as Namjoon had locked it up for the night. Discarding his apron into his bag and slipping into a hoodie instead, he faced the setting sun and the rest of downtown. The sky was an oil painting of purples and pinks against the dark blue of mountain lines. He couldn't help but look over it all and take a deep breath, as if this were all a new coming project in his life. Biking his way down the mostly empty road, the streetlamps lit as timed, illuminating the potted plants that hung underneath that he had worked so hard to make beautiful for the town that meant so much to him. When the council had asked for his floral arrangements for their fixtures, they assured to provide a nice sized check, which Namjoon declined, stating he wanted to donate his works for the sake of helping to make his home. He felt comfortable enough in his one-bedroom apartment on the outskirts that didn't ask for much. He made enough at his floral shop to keep himself at a stable pace in life, since he was the only floral shop in the same town he also provided the landscaping for. Being in the area for only two years, Namjoon had come a long way. He was happy, but he wished he could say he really was. He still needed time, he thought.
Rounding the corner, the restaurant's lights were still illuminated, even though it was barren on the inside. They were going to close soon, Namjoon figured, laying his bike against the building, and stepping in with a quick transaction in mind. He was greeted warmly, which he returned, before asking what the clerk recommended. They talked for a moment, first about the clerk's favorites, Namjoon mentioning how he had heard about the place, the clerk recognizing him as the floral shop owner, and laughing about the smaller things that come with working retail.
Namjoon stepped out into the darker street, sweet bread wrapped with wax paper in hand, stuffing it into his bag as he biked up the street towards home.
Walking into the apartment building and eventually into his own, he sighed, locking the door behind himself as he shed his shoes. He brought his bag into the bathroom to discard into the washer, undressing to shower and tossing those clothes in as well. Settling down for the night after switching the laundry over, his tired feet dragged into the bedroom as he looked over at his bedside clock, seeing it read 8:15 pm. He figured putting on a movie for background noise would help him to sleep before the night thoughts would creep on him. As soon as he cuddled into the blankets, the fear of overthinking melted into the background noise of a grayscale film as he quickly fell asleep.