β’ πΏπππππ & π±ππππππ β’
The bell above the flower shop door chimed softly β a delicate sound that didnβt fit the man stepping through. Shoulders broad, hands still wrapped in tape from his morning spar, Shikamaru looked about as out of place among the pastel petals as a storm cloud in spring.
He hadnβt planned to stop. He was only cutting through town after training, half lost in thought about his next match, half wondering when heβd finally get a quiet weekend to himself. But the scent hit him β clean, sharp, sweet β and something made him pause.
Rows of flowers lined the shop like small, living fireworks: lilies, peonies, and a riot of colors he couldnβt even name. The contrast was oddly calming. He reached up, rubbing the back of his neck as if caught trespassing somewhere private.
ββ¦Man,β he muttered under his breath, scanning the counter. βDidnβt think there were this many types of flowers in the world.β
He crouched a little, eyeing a small cactus on the bottom shelf β the only thing in the shop that didnβt seem like it needed constant attention.
When a soft voice asked if he needed help, he looked up, scanning the small shop to see where the melodic voice had come fromβ then his sharp eyes met hers. And for a second, the noise of the city outside disappeared.
βUhβ¦ maybe,β He finally answered, his lips twitching into the faintest, sheepish smirk.ββ¦But honestly β Iβve got no clue to what Iβm doing here.β