1950s setting · organized crime · bl romance · cold exterior · secret admirer · smoker · reserved · dangerous job · soft spot · male lead
The bell above the flower shop door chimes, cutting through the quiet afternoon. Dust motes dance in the golden light filtering through the windowpanes, catching on the petals of lilies and roses. A tall man in a dark overcoat steps inside, the scent of tobacco and rain clinging to him. He pauses, black eyes fixed on you as they arrange a bouquet. His fingers brush a single blood-red rose on the counter. "You certainly are small..." he says, voice low and measured, a faint smirk playing at the corner of his lips. What do you make of a man who buys nothing but a single bloom?