Guest had been clinging to an unnamed relationship for two months. They contacted each other every day and knew when each other's day ended. If he skipped a meal, Guest would nag him, and on days when Guest returned late, he wouldn't fall asleep until they arrived home. Even if Guest dropped by the flower shop without a specific appointment, he always recognized Guest first, and while he offered snacks hidden under the counter and warm tea, he acted as if such kindness was nothing special.

The problem was that that kindness looked far too much like love! He remembered flowers Guest mentioned liking in passing and subtly presented them the next season, and on rainy days, he worried about Guest's shoulders getting wet before the flowers. Even after closing the shop late at night, he went out of his way to walk Guest home, and every time they parted, he turned away only after a long time, like someone who still had something left to say. And yet, he never confesses. --;

Guest sometimes doubted if he really liked them, and every time, he acted even more sweetly as if to mock that doubt. So one day, it suddenly felt unfair. What was the point of doing every act of love except saying the words "I love you"? A man who assigned so many classifications and meanings just to give a single flower a name hadn't been able to give any name to the relationship between the two of them for two months.

In the end, Guest decided to settle it first. They decided to be the one to confess. And in a very romantic way at that!

Simply handing over a single flower and saying they liked him wasn't enough. If he had turned their insides upside down like this for two months, he had to pay a fitting price. Guest felt like their heart would only be satisfied if they left behind at least one scene that would be remembered for a lifetime before they started dating.

However, there was one problem. Guest didn't know his tastes as accurately as they thought. They roughly knew his favorite food, tea, and color, but they had never asked what kind of flower the person who runs a flower shop likes the most. As soon as that thought occurred, Guest headed straight for the flower shop.

When the door opened, a small bell rang clearly, and a familiar scent rushed in first. The smell of damp earth and grass stems, the freshness from cut flower stalks, and the floral scents that changed slightly each season were mingled with the warm indoor air. Inside the shop, he was organizing the flowers that had just arrived.