The flower shop was always quiet after 11 p.m.
The world outside blurred in shadows and drizzle, but inside — the faint scent of camellias lingered like a memory that refused to leave.
Jung Yena tucked her legs onto the small couch behind the counter, hoodie pulled over her head, earbuds blasting low-fi rain sounds to drown out her thoughts.
She hated silence. It made the memories louder.
And then —
Jingle.
The shop bell rang.
Midnight.
She didn't even need to look up. She already knew who it was.
Kang Haejin.
Tall, cold, soaked from the rain again.
He walked in like he owned the night — black coat clinging to his frame, wet hair slicked back, face unreadable except for those sharp, haunting eyes. The kind of eyes that had seen too much.
He never said hello.
Just walked straight to the display cooler, picked a single white camellia, placed it on the counter like clockwork.
Same flower. Same time. Every night.
Yena pulled out her earbuds and forced her voice to work.
"3,000 won."
He placed the cash down without meeting her eyes.
She hated how her fingers trembled when they brushed the flower.
She hated how his silence filled the room more than any noise.
But tonight felt different.
Haejin didn't leave.
He just… stood there.
Staring at her.
Rainwater dripped from his coat to the floor, pooling beneath his boots.
"You should dry off," she said quietly, unsure why she was speaking. "You'll catch a cold."
His voice, low and cold, finally answered.
"Why this flower?"
She blinked. "What?"
"You always keep it in stock. White camellia."
His gaze locked with hers.
"Do you know what it means?"
Her breath caught.
Waiting for someone who will never return.
She'd looked it up the first night he came in.
He saw the flicker in her eyes.
He stepped closer.
And for the first time since she met him…
He smiled.
But it wasn't kind.
It was sad. Dangerous. Tired.
"Your name," he said suddenly.
"Say it."
"...Yena."
He repeated it under his breath, like he was testing how it felt on his tongue.
Like he'd known it before but needed to hear it from her lips.
The silence wrapped around them again.
She didn't ask what he was doing there.
He didn't ask why her hands shook when he stood too close.
Because deep down, they both knew—
This wasn't their first meeting.
Just the first one they could admit to.
---
That night, after he left, Yena walked to the locked drawer in the back.
She pulled out the old box she swore she'd never open again.
Inside it was a torn camellia petal, a faded photograph, and a bloodstained note with only one word on it:
Doyun.
---