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est knows william jakrapatr by handwriting.
by the way the secretary always dictates the card - keep smiling, you were unforgettable, i'm sorry if i led you on. by the frequency of orders, sometimes two in a single day, different names, same bouwuet structures. est could probably assemble them blindfolded by now: red roses for apologies, white tulips for gratitude, orchids when guilt needs to look expensive.
he hates william jakrapatr.
not abstractly, not philosophically. personally. viscerally. in the way you hate someone you've never met but somehow know too well.
zaven group's ceo has never stepped foot into est's shop. why would he? he has assistants for that. a perfectly polite secretary who always calls at 9.07am and pays without blinking, who once apologized to est for the inconvenience of ordering flowers three times in one week.
est smiles, takes the orders, arranges the blooms. he never writes the cards - company policy - but he reads every name. he remembers every one.
so when the bell above the door chimes one tuesday afternoon and a tall man in a tailored coat steps inside, est doesn't look up right away.
"pick up for zaven," the man says, voice smooth, careless. "apology bouquet."
est freezes.
he looks up slowly.
william jakrapatr looks exactly like the kind of man est has imagined hating: devastatingly handsome, expensive in that effortless way, eyes sharp with boredom and confidence. the sort of man who smiles like the world has always said yes to him.
their eyes meet.
william's expression shifts - just a flicker. surprise. interest. something like impact.
"oh," william says. "wow."
est feels something hot and ugly bloom in his chest. this is him. this is the man whose romantic debris est has been cleaning up for months.
"you're early," est says flatly. "and the bouquet isn't ready."
william blinks, then grins. "i can wait."
"no," est says. "you can come back in twenty minutes. or have your secretary do it like usual."
the grin widens. "you know me?"
est sets his scissors down with a precise click. "i know every woman you've ever apologized to."
silence.
william laughs, delighted. "okay, that's a new one."
est turns away, grabs the half finished bouquet. "wait outside."
most people would be offended. william jakrapatr, notoriously, is not most people.
he comes back the next day.
and the next.
and the next.
sometimes he buys flower he doesn't need. sometimes he invents reasons - office morale, client dinner, just because. he leans on the counter, flashes that lethal smile, flirts like it's muscle memory.
est doesn't thaw.
he meets every compliment with an unimpressed stare, every flirtatious quip with a deadpan correction. when william calls him beautiful, est raises and eyebrow and says, "you say that to everyone." when william asks him out, est replies, "i know how that ends."
it's intoxicating.
william tells himself it's fun. a challenge. the first person in years who hasn't melted on contact. he tells himself he's enjoying the banter, the resistance, the way est's eyes sharpen when he's annoyed.
but then he notices he hasn't placed an order for apology flowers in weeks.
then months.
he cancels a dinner without really thinking about it. lets message go unanswered. his secretary raises an eyebrow one morning and asks if he's feeling well.
william doesn't realize the game ended until he catches himself rearranging his schedule just to be in the shop at four, when est's usually alone and the sunlight hits his hair like something sacred.
est notices before william does.
"you haven't been ordering," est says one afternoon, not looking up from trimming stems.
william shrugs. "guess i've been busy."
est finally looks at him, suspicion and something softer tangled together. "good."
the word hits harder than any rejection,
william goes home that night and stares at his phone, thumb hovering over names he hasn't thought about in weeks. he feels...nothing. just the pull of green walls and flower-scented air and a boy who knows all his sins and still lets him stand at the counter. "i know what you think of me," william says one day, voice quieter than usual. "and you're not wrong."
est pauses.
"i'm not trying to win you," william continues. "i already lost."
est studies him for a long moment. "people like you don't fall in love," he says. "you just get bored."
william shakes his head, a little desperate now. "i stopped seeing everyone else. i didn't even notice when it happened. i just-kept coming back here."
the bell chimes as a customer enters, breaking the moment. est exhales, steadies himself.
"flowerd don't fix people," est says finally.
"i know," william replies. "but i'm not asking you to fix me."
est hands him a small bouquet - no card, no name. just white flowers, honest and unadorned.
"then stop treating this like a game," est says. "or leave."
william takes the bouquet like it's something fragile. sacred.
"i'm not playing," he says. and for the first time, est believes him.