The shop felt unusually silent after the stranger's departure, as though the very air had absorbed the unease he left behind. Min fiddled with the ribbon on the bouquet, his fingers trembling faintly.
Kei noticed. "You're shaking," he said quietly.
Min blinked and quickly pulled his hands back. "I'm fine. It just… startled me, that's all."
Kei studied him for a moment, his gaze steady. "He stared too much," he muttered, almost to himself.
Min glanced up. "You think so?"
"I know so." Kei's tone was certain, his jaw tight. Then, softer, "I don't like it."
For a second, Min didn't know how to respond. The words were simple, but the weight behind them was heavy, protective, and strangely comforting. His lips curved into a small smile.
"You don't have to worry so much," Min said gently. "Customers come and go."
"Not like him," Kei replied. His eyes drifted toward the door again, as if half-expecting the man to walk back in.
Airi, who had been unusually quiet, finally spoke from the corner. "Kei's right, Min. Something about that guy feels off."
Min sighed, though not in annoyance—more in resignation. "Alright, alright. If he comes back again, I'll let you handle it."
At that, Kei finally allowed himself a breath of relief. "Good."
The tension slowly eased. Min returned to arranging the bouquet, and Kei leaned against the counter beside him, watching the delicate way Min's hands moved.
"Thank you," Min said suddenly, his voice low.
Kei blinked. "For what?"
"For standing there. For… making me feel less alone when he was here."
Kei didn't answer immediately. Instead, he reached out, almost without thinking, and adjusted the ribbon that Min had tied, brushing his fingers lightly against Min's. "You're not alone," he said at last.
The words were soft, but firm—like a vow.
Min's cheeks warmed, and he ducked his head quickly, pretending to focus on the flowers. Yet a quiet, unshakable warmth settled in his chest, one that lingered long after the silence returned.
To be continued...