A Quiet Life Among The Flowers 🍃
Ch. 3 — Lily of the Valley
Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4
Romance, dimensional travel. Image taken from Pinterest. Proof by Ro
Jeremiah rubs his chin, squinting at the order slip on the monitor.
"We don't even have it in stock," you say, leaning your weight against the wooden counter. "Just so you know."
"Yeah, I know. I guess he's just going to have to wait until they're in peak season, which can be anytime now." Jeremiah scratches the back of his neck. "We can at least start throwing some ideas together for the arrangement."
"Did he give you a hard deadline?"
"Nah. He never does, luckily." He cracks a small smile. "The vase isn't even ready yet."
"Thank goodness." You let out a quiet sigh of relief. Tying up your hair, grabbing some papers and pencil, you say, "Let me try something."
For the next few hours, the flower shop belongs to the quiet scratch of your pencil. You lose yourself in the clean lines of paper, sketching out what you think of a wavy, organic ceramic base that mirrors the motion of the ocean. A few crumpled pages end up in the bin, but eventually, you slide the final draft across the desk to Jeremiah.
He blinks, looking down at the sketch and then back up at you. “Wait. Since when do you draw like this?”
“Just a hobby,” you say, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear. A forgotten hobby, drowned in the daily job of your previous life, you thought, but you keep it to yourself.
“Y/N, this is actually really good.” You smile and nod, feeling appreciated. He sets the paper down, but instead of heading back to his side of the counter, he lingers. His fingers tap a slow rhythm against the wood. He clears his throat, his eyes suddenly tracking everywhere but your face, a subtle pink creeping into his cheeks. “Hey, quick question. What do girls your age… I don't know, actually like these days?”
The sudden shift in the room feels heavy, almost tight. He's standing just a fraction too close, looking completely locked in his own head as if he’s holding his breath.
You give a playful look at him. “‘Your age?’ You sound like an old man, Jeremiah.”
He flinches, an embarrassed laugh slipping out as he raises his hands defensively, his face turning a much deeper shade of red. “Hey! I’m not that old! I’m just trying to figure out what’s trending. Tastes change fast, alright?”
You laugh softly and reach for a bundle of fresh stems, letting him off the hook. Still, a tiny flicker of curiosity stays with you. Why was he acting so incredibly flustered over a casual question?
As Jeremiah retreats to the safety of the delivery logs, your thoughts briefly drift to Akso Hospital. Macie is probably resting in a recovery ward by now. You hope she’s doing alright, but you mentally pull yourself back. You aren't close enough to handle a hospital visit. You’re just two people who happened to cross paths in a dangerous alley. Keeping your distance is the smartest thing you can do.
“Alright, walk-ins are done for the day,” Jeremiah calls out, pointing toward a delicate glass vase filled with fragrant Lily of the Valley. “Just this last drop-off. Think you can handle it before you off-sign?”
You check the printed tag. “EonTech headquarters?”
“Yeah. Easy enough, right?” He smiles, “Figured you could substitute for me, they’re a regular.”
In the lore of the game, EonTech is a name mentioned around in World Underneath, although only briefly. Getting to see it in person is one of those strange, fascinating perks of actually living in this world. As long as you stay firmly in the background, you’re perfectly happy to just look around and discover small details of it.
The transition from the warm, earthy scent of the flower shop to the humid sprawl of Linkon City hits you the second you step outside. The evening air is thick, heavy with moisture that promises rain later tonight. You join the sea of regular citizens—bureaucrats, exhausted office workers, and students—all rushing toward the transit lines. Your hands instinctively protecting the rare flowers from the packed crowd. It really is that time of the day. You’re reminded of how your life used to be, and thankful of the gift of your new life.
When you reach the building, the sticky summer heat vanishes, replaced by the freezing bite of corporate air conditioning.
“Hi. Delivery.” You tell the receptionist, holding the small glass vase securely. “Under Mr. Ao.”
The woman looks up, her gaze instantly locking onto the flowers. Her professional smile blooms. “Right. The replacement. Follow me.”
Instead of pointing you toward a service elevator or a drop-off desk, she walks you straight to a private elevator bank, swiping a high-level security card. “Give the arrangement to the secretary, then come straight back down, please.”
Before you can ask about the tight security for a simple vase of flowers, the doors slide shut with a hiss. Your stomach drops as the lift climbs rapidly, the quiet hum of the machinery filling the enclosed space.
The doors open onto a large quiet corridor lined with dark glass and polished stone. The silence up here feels vacuum-sealed.
But the moment your sneakers hit the plush carpet, a heavy thud echoes from the deep end of the hall. It’s a dense, massive sound—like a heavy weight drops against the floor structure, sending a faint vibration right through the soles of your shoes. You walk toward it, wanting to get the signature and leave as fast as possible.
As you near the double doors, muffled voices bleed through the insulation.
Another heavy footsteps, and a small thud of door closing. You knock quickly, intentionally interrupting whatever crisis is unfolding. The door swings open almost instantly.
“Evening,” a sharp, professional woman says, anchoring herself in the frame. Her eyes flick to you, a momentary look of surprise crossing her face before she notices the Lily of the Valley. “You’re new.” She shakes her head lightly to dismiss her comment before stepping back just enough for you to pass. “My apologies, please put them on the side table inside.”
As you walk to a double door, you notice how the secretary keeps looking at you and tracks your movement. You feel out of place, really, and you just want tk go home. But when you open the door, the thought immediately got distracted by the view. The inner office is grand, dominated by floor-to-ceiling glass looking out over the city. You walk over, carefully setting the vase down on the polished wood, fixing the strands before facing the window.
“Wow,” you murmur, taking in the view.
A sudden crunch comes from another door attached to the office. Deciding you definitely don't want to see whatever is behind that door, you walk back to the secretary.
“All set,” you say, offering her the clipboard. “Can I just get a signature for the shop?”
“I will.” The deep, velvety voice comes from directly behind your shoulder.
“Oh!” Your breath catches. You haven't heard a single footstep.
You turn around slowly, your eyes meeting the dark, tailored fabric of an expensive vest. The man is massive, his broad shoulders completely cutting off the light from the hallway. His features are striking, but it’s his eyes that lock you in place—a gentle yet piercing, unnatural golden-amber.
The moment your eyes meet, his eyes grow wide with genuine surprise. His nostrils flare slightly, almost twitching, catching a sudden, unexpected whiff of your scent. You could swear something twitches sharply right at the crown of his head, hidden beneath his auburn hair, but the movement is gone before you can even process what it was. He smiles, but his observant gaze pinning you to the floor.
“Give me the paper,” he murmurs.
“Oh. Right, here.” You hand over the board.
As his fingers brush against yours to take it, a radiating wave of heat rolls off his skin. It makes your fingertips tingle. You quickly look down and take a step back, your face flushing from the intensity of his physical proximity.
“Philo…” he reads aloud, his voice a low vibration that seems to rumble in his chest. He scribbles a fast signature and hands it back. “There.”
“Thank you. I hope you like the arrangement, Mr…” You look down at the messy scribbles.
“Valko. Just call me Valko.” Another small smile touches his face, but those golden eyes remain sharp, steady, and entirely unblinking.
“Mr. Valko. Thank you. Have a good evening.” You feel your own reply is too rushed but you couldn't care less when you feel something's odd.
You back away toward the door, keeping your pace just shy of a run. Even as you hit the hallway, you can feel that burning gaze tracking your back until the elevator doors finally click shut.
Inside the office, the secretary takes a cautious step forward, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Sir…?”
Valko grunts, a low, frustrated sound as he rubs his nose with the fingers that had touched yours. The air in the room is a mess—the clean scent of the lilies completely tangled up with something else, a faint, distinct trace that lingers in his mind.
“I smell a faint hint of blood…” Valko murmurs, his eyes still fixed on the closed elevator doors. “Find out everything you can about her, Cassandra. I want a full profile.”
“What was that…” you mutter to yourself, pushing through EonTech’s heavy glass revolving doors.
The sticky, evening humidity of Linkon City hits you back, a stark contrast to the icy corporate top floor. The streetlights are just turning on, casting a hazy glow through the twilight air as regular commuters move past you on the sidewalk. You take a deep breath, letting the mundane noise of traffic wash away the strange tension in your chest. You don't know what kind of dangerous Evolver or underground figure Valko is—given that such a handsome, striking man like him usually ends up somewhere important in the plot—but you make a mental vow to let Jeremiah handle any future corporate runs.
By the time you reach the local supermarket, the sky has bruised into a deep purple.
Grabbing a plastic basket, you wander into the grocery aisles, looking for something quick for dinner. You turn into the condiments section and freeze mid-step.
A few feet away stands a familiar head of soft, platinum-blonde hair. Xavier is wearing a casual gray hoodie, holding a bottle of fiery green jalapeno sauce in one hand and a heavy jar of caesar mayo in the other. He is staring at them in confusion.
Your mind flares instantly. Are you kidding me? What is he doing here?
You take a quiet step backward, attempting to merge with a towering display of canned soup.
You jump, your heart hitting your ribs. Xavier is suddenly right there at the edge of the aisle, tilting his head with that quiet, puppy-like confusion. He has clearly caught you trying to vanish. “Why are you hiding?”
“Hi! I’m—I’m not hiding,” you let out a slightly high-pitched laugh, spinning around to grab a random box of cereal off the shelf to look occupied. “Just… checking the ingredients. What are you looking for?”
“I was wondering if these would make a burger taste better.” He steps closer, holding up the jalapeno sauce and the thick caesar mayo. He looks so completely serious about this terrible combination that it actually makes your chest ache.
“To be honest? That combo is a complete disaster,” you say, wincing as you recall his notoriously lethal cooking skills from the game. “It’s going to taste really weird. Trust me.”
Xavier’s blue eyes blink in surprise, his lips parting slightly. “Really? I thought it would work. What do you think I should use?”
“Well…” You let out a soft sigh, your defenses slipping just a bit at how genuinely lost he looks. You step up to the shelf, blurring the line of your personal rule about staying away from the main characters. “Is the burger chicken or beef?”
“Beef,” he replies softly, his eyes tracking your face instead of the rows of bottles.
“Then go with this one, and…” You reach up, searching the top rows. To get a better view of the lower stock, you raise both hands and smoothly gather your hair, sweeping the strands back over your shoulder so they won't block your vision.
For Xavier, the entire supermarket seems to go dead silent. The harsh buzz of the fluorescent lights, the distant rattle of shopping carts, the chatter of the other shoppers—it all simply dissolves. Time pauses. He just watches the quiet, fluid grace of your hands, his gaze locked onto the intense, serious concentration that takes over your features as you scan the labels.
You are invested in this choice. Xavier probably thinks it is because you care about his cooking, but internally, your alarm bells are screaming. You know exactly how dangerous his kitchen experiments could be, and your soul simply cannot allow a culinary war crime to happen on your watch. You have to save whoever is about to eat that food.
“Found it,” you murmur, pulling a bottle of smoked BBQ sauce from the shelf. You turn back to him, handing it over with a completely unguarded smile. “Pair this with some thin, raw sliced onions, fresh tomatoes, and lettuce. The sweetness of the smoke balances the savory beef perfectly. Just trust me on this one.”
Xavier stands perfectly still, a quiet, breathless warmth settling into his chest as he looks at your smile. A genuin one..
But the moment your gaze lock directly with his clear blue eyes, you immediately look away. Your eyes dart down toward the shelf, your mind telling you to pull back. The bright smile doesn't completely vanish, but it shifts instantly—flattening into something guarded, formal, and polite. Your shoulders go rigid, your posture stiffens, and the wall you always keep between yourself and the plot drops right back into place.
A quiet trace of sadness flickers across Xavier’s features. His shoulders drop just a fraction. This is only your second encounter, yet the moment you actually look at him, you treat him like an impending threat. He doesn't understand why your attitude completely flips the second you let your guard down, leaving him quietly intrigued—and a little stung—by why you felt the need to build a wall against him in the first place.
“Thank you,” he says softly, his voice dropping a register as his fingers close around the BBQ sauce. “I was planning to cook for a friend.”
“You’re very welcome. Happy cooking.” You give him a quick smile, keeping your eyes trained firmly on his hoodie zipper rather than his face. You take a large step backward, eager to make your escape. That friend better thank me for saving them, you think, silently praying for the survival of whoever is getting that burger.
“See you around,” you add quickly, scurrying down the aisle and leaving him standing alone under the bright grocery lights.
You stride the remaining blocks to your home, locking the door behind you with a loud exhale.
Dropping the grocery bag onto the kitchen counter, you take a deep, grounding breath. Eggs, white rice, a small package of minced chicken. Simple. You fry the chicken with a little salt, pepper, and a dash of soy sauce, scooping the mixture over a steaming bowl of rice.
As you eat at the small table, your mind involuntarily drifts back to the corporate office and the man with the golden eyes. In any romance or otome game, there was an unwritten rule: if a character had a uniquely striking design, a powerful presence, or was overwhelmingly handsome, they were never just a background NPC. They were always hard-wired into the plot, bound to be deeply connected to the main story. Valko is an entirely unpredictable wild card. Between him, Rafayel’s eccentric custom vase request, and Xavier standing too close in a grocery aisle, the universe seems determined to tear down the quiet life you were trying to build.
You press your warm palms against your face, groaning out loud. You promised yourself you wouldn't get dragged into the complicated mess of their lives, yet reality keeps tugging at your sleeves.
After finishing dinner, you head straight for the bathroom.
Jeremiah let you take home a few bruised, leftover roses from the shop that couldn't be sold. You carefully pluck the velvety petals, letting them float on the surface of the hot water as the bathtub fills. You add a few drops of expensive Damascus rose oil you bought earlier at the store, a impulse purchase, light a couple of scented candles, and turn off the harsh overhead lights.
Finally, you drop a vintage jazz record onto the secondhand player you set up on the counter. The smooth, crackling brass notes fill the small, steamy room.
Slowly, you dip your toes into the swirling, warm water, sinking all the way down until the heat hugs your shoulders. You close your eyes, breathing in the thick, sweet scent of steam and roses.
The warmth of the bath works its magic, melting the lingering tension from your muscles and quieting the anxious noise in your head. As you sink deeper into the fragrant water, the first heavy drops of rain finally begin to patter against the windowpane, fulfilling the humid evening’s promise. Let the main characters have their grand destinies, their dangerous battles, and their complicated fates. Tonight, you’re stealing a quiet, well-earned truce with reality. The record crackles softly, spinning in its warm, lazy loop—and for now, the world outside simply has to wait.
Tagging @gravitationalbluberry 💙
Hi~ if you read this please tell me what you think about it ok 🙈
Next part is coming soon~ (꜆˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)꜆ ♡
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