⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ florist!wonpil x interior designer!reader (ft. best friend baker!younghyun and side day6) ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅
♡ genre/warnings: fluff for our bday boy <3
♡ word count: 4,184 words i got carried away
♡ author’s note: happy birthday kim wonpil you are the softest sweetest most affectionate idol ever i hope you celebrated well today!!! thank you for being you <3 be happy always hehe
//
Is he… pouting?
Kim Wonpil, 31 years old, dressed in an all-white outfit with a brown apron tied around his waist, hands clasped in prayer, shoulders shaking in disbelief. Kim Wonpil, the owner of the town’s best and only florist. Kim Wonpil, your seatmate in kindergarten, who lived two blocks away from you.
This Kim Wonpil, the current version of him, at least, was standing in front of you, pouting.
“Please, Y/N… Just let me have it, I beg of you!” His voice reached an uneasy shrill, as he whined with little to no shame. He even unclasped his hands and reached out to tug at your sleeve. “Just this once, c’mon…”
You stood, transfixed, unable to believe that a grown-ass man was acting like this.
Over what, you may ask? Well, this entire commotion was caused by something so trivial; so simple – a slice of strawberry sponge cake.
The last slice, to be specific.
Look, you won fair and square – you reached the bakery first, and that’s even after messaging your friend Younghyun, the owner of said bakery, that you were calling dibs on his infamous strawberry cake.
You envisioned yourself sitting cross-legged in your room, your iPad playing some drama that you barely paid any attention to, as you indulged in a cup of chamomile tea and a slice of strawberry cake to celebrate the end of a long week.
But it seemed like the universe had other plans.
“Guys…” Younghyun whisper-shouted from behind the counter, his brows knitted in frustration. Why were all of his friends absolute weirdos? He secretly wondered whether this was a sign from the universe to find better friends. “Hurry up, you’re holding the line!” To the patient old lady standing behind you two, he put on his best customer service smile and reassured her in his well-practiced customer service tone, “Won’t be long, ma’am!”
Wonpil turned to Younghyun, pupils shaking in desperation. “You can’t let her have it, hyung, please. I’ve been such a loyal customer, I’ve been buying from you for three decades! How long has she been here – like a week?”
“Four months, mind you.” You corrected him, huffing.
“Please, Younghyun… Not today, of all days…”
A lightbulb flashed above the baker’s head. “Ah, you’re right! How could I forget?” He smacked his palm against his forehead. Darn it, his memory was getting worse – he really was getting old. “Y/N, look, I’m really sorry, but Wonpil has to have it. It’s his birthday today.”
At that, the fight in you dissipated. You let go of your iron grip on the tray, and handed it over to Wonpil. Sure, you loved your desserts, but at least you had morals. “Oh. In which case, here you go. I’ll have something else.”
“Oh, thank you, Y/N! Thank you, thank you, thank you!” He set down the tray and engulfed you in a quick, yet tight hug. You froze, not knowing what to do with your hands, and simply settled into his tight embrace and the lingering floral and earthy scent on his clothes.
Younghyun cleared his throat from behind the counter. Wonpil immediately let you go. “No PDA in here, please, for the sake of the customers.” He looked like he was a school teacher ready to reprimand delinquents. “Wonpil, I’m so sorry – it completely slipped my mind. I’ll bake a cake for you this weekend as an apology.”
“Oh, don’t worry about it, hyung.” The birthday boy’s mood took a 180 degree turn as soon as he’d laid claim on his beloved strawberry cake. “This is more than enough. Besides, you’ve given me the honour of decorating your bakery with my floral arrangements for the past few years. That alone makes me indebted to you.”
“No, I insist. I’ll bring it over to Sungjin’s so we can all celebrate. Oh, Y/N!” The baker turns to you. “You said you’ve been having trouble making friends, right? Why don’t you come over to Sungjin’s place this Sunday? We’re having a casual get-together to celebrate Wonpil’s birthday.”
“Don’t let him fool you,” Wonpil whispered to you. “It’s really just an excuse to get the band back together for a jam session.”
Younghyun sucked in his breath in an attempt to sound threatening. Wonpil remained unfazed by his antics. “Don’t spread lies.”
“Younghyun really wants the band back together.” Wonpil added.
“I just miss you guys! Adulting is hard, and our band days were so carefree. We were so youthful back then…” He said wistfully.
“You still are! Haven’t you heard, thirty is the new twenty!” You added, trying to comfort your friend. You were grateful for the topic change, especially since you could feel your cheeks tingling with warmth at the mention of your recent woes. Alas, the difficulty of making friends as an adult. “But yes, count me in! I’d love to come!”
//
That night, as you tucked into your custard cream bun with immeasurable glee, you recounted the conversation at the bakery.
Kang Younghyun was your longtime friend; an indispensable part of your childhood. The moment you stepped through the classroom doors and laid eyes on his Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle backpack, pencil case and lunchbox, you knew you were destined to be best friends. The two of you stuck together through thick and thin – from crying next to each other as your mothers dropped you off at kindergarten, to comforting each other with liquor and video games after yet another teenage heartbreak, all the way to supporting each other to chase your dreams. You had his back and helped him stand his ground against his parents when he told them he wanted to carry on his grandmother’s legacy of running the town’s bakery, rather than furthering his studies. In return, he cheered you on from the sidelines as you sat your parents down and broke the news that you were moving out of your little town to the big city, with grand plans to make it big in the interior designing world.
Little did you know that ten years after that conversation, and many, many tears later, you would wind up back in the place you once called home.
For most of your 20s, you fought tooth and nail to break into the industry. As a country native and a woman, the odds were stacked against you from the very beginning. Yet, you were relentless and determined, vowing to fight hard for your dreams. Your hard work brought you to dizzying heights – from starting as a graduate at the country’s number one interior designing firm, you rose all the way to the top, eventually flying out to cities near and far to present your work at conferences, and learn from other cultures as well.
All the travelling and the adventures were surreal – it felt almost too good to be true, and at times, you had to pinch yourself; to remind yourself that this was the life you were living, the life that you fought so hard to have.
And yet, when you came back to your hotel after yet another client meeting, and watched the New Year fireworks from the vantage point of your executive suite, you felt a deep pang in your heart. You had never felt as profoundly alone as when you were sitting on your bed, still donned in your business suit, looking down at the crowds on Victoria Harbour as they enjoyed Hong Kong’s fireworks and light show extravaganza. No amount of milk tea, dimsum or beef noodles could fill the gaping hole in your soul.
The truth hit you like a ton of bricks – the world was filled with endless wonders, and you had no one else to explore them with.
So, after a decade of floating through cities with unknown faces and unfamiliar street signs, you drifted back to where it all began – your hometown.
It was a small coastal city, once the centre of trade thanks to its huge ports, but now a sleepy seaside town that benefited from domestic tourism and the occasional tour bus. Most things existed singularly – there was one post office, one hair salon, one bakery, one florist, one grocery store, and so on.
You thought you would get bored, unaccustomed to the slow pace of life. But you fully embraced slow living. In the first month, you soothed your tired soul by spending hours strolling by the beach, shovelling snow from your driveway, reading with a cup of warm beverage, catching up on shows, and eating home cooked food.
In the second month, you began your research. You started making plans for your own interior designing business, hoping to transform the spaces and businesses in your hometown.
In the third month, you set your plan to action. You rented out a small office space, gathered old contacts, and slowly started building your clientele.
The months passed in that way. Winter turned into spring, and you felt your energy being replenished, little by little, one bowl of rice at a time.
But it was still awfully lonely. As much as you hated working late nights, the sense of camaraderie with your fellow team members and the jokes told over boxes of takeout made you miss your previous life. At times, your fingers hovered over the “Call” button, wondering whether it was appropriate to call your former work besties for something as simple as a leisurely chat (you always held yourself back). You even missed the times you spent after work wandering aimlessly across the city, getting lost amongst the crowd of office workers rushing home to their dinner dates or their families. As lonely as it sounded, being in a place with lots of people reaffirmed your sense of self. It made you feel like you were a part of something bigger than yourself.
Which is why you really wanted to make an effort with Younghyun’s friends. You knew that he joined a band after you moved to Seoul, thanks to his consistent spamming of rehearsal videos on KakaoTalk. You had practically memorised their voices by now, along with the little quirks they each had when playing their respective instruments. Perhaps this was odd, but you had been friends with Younghyun for so long now that it seemed like a no-brainer to you – what was his, was also yours. You had no doubt that despite never meeting his former bandmates, you would get along just fine.
One bandmate in particular, caught your eye. You could never seem to tear your attention away from their soft-spoken keyboardist. He appeared to be a man of few words, always lingering in the corners, but when he opened his mouth to sing, you swore the gates of heaven opened up to welcome you. You spent one too many nights in your early adult years comforted by his soothing voice and the way his fingers smoothly glided across his beloved instrument.
As you sipped on your chamomile tea, you pondered over how you could contribute to the birthday party. Younghyun had mentioned it was a casual get-together, but given it was a party after all, a little bit of decor wouldn’t hurt, right?
//
Wonpil arrived at Sungjin’s right on time.
“Y/N?” He was sporting an oversized grey t-shirt and a pair of jeans that were painted in green and brown stains. You figured he’d come straight from work.
You got up from your crouched position on Sungjin’s doorstep. “Wonpil!” You greeted him warmly, pulling him into a hug, as though you were lifelong friends, and not mutual friends who recently reconnected in the past six months.
He stiffened in your hold, and you couldn’t help but feel a sense of deja vu wash over you at the way your roles were reversed. After a moment of hesitation, his arms came around to pat your back, awkwardly. “Thanks for coming.”
“Of course, I wouldn’t miss it for anything.” You pulled back, flashing him an excited smile to conceal your slight nervousness. Besides, you thought to yourself, I really hope you’ll like what I planned for you. “Younghyun and I go way back – so any friend of Younghyun is a friend of mine.”
“Likewise,” Wonpil responded with a tight-lipped smile.
“C’mon, let’s get you inside.” You quickly produced a party hat from behind your back and placed it on Wonpil’s head, your fingers tingling as they grazed the soft skin of his chin.
The two of you made your way through Sungjin’s gigantic house to the backyard. It was eerily quiet, and all Wonpil could hear was his own heartbeat thundering between his ears. Being this close to you was certainly not great for his health. He racked his brains for something half-intelligent to say, but couldn’t come up with anything. Over and over, his mouth opened and closed like a goldfish.
“They’re in the backyard.” You explained, hoping to cut through the silence, yet your voice was barely above a whisper. Being left alone with Wonpil made you more nervous than you initially imagined.
He hummed. “Ah, right.” His voice echoed throughout the empty space, and your mind was immediately sent back through time. That voice that got you through those turbulent years away from home, was now the voice trailing just mere metres behind you.
“Are you ready?”
His brows scrunched in confusion. For what – ?
With a click, you unlocked the glass door to the backyard. Sungjin’s parents loved gardening, so when they built the house, they purposely left a huge amount of space for a garden and expansive backyard. Wonpil had been to his band guitarist’s place countless times after practice or just for hang outs, but he’d never seen it like this before.
The overarching trellises that led into the fountain at the centre of the garden were dressed in its best robes. Spring was right around the corner, and the purple wisterias were early this year. With the flowers in full bloom, and sparkling fairy lights dotted across the trellises, Wonpil had no idea where to look. He took a step slowly under the trellis, hoping to inspect the beautiful flowers more closely – he was a florist, after all. Instead, he found photos strung up at the ends of evenly spaced branches.
His eyes glinted in wonder and awe as he took in the scenery unfolding before him. There were photos – some really old, and some new ones too. There was a photo of baby-him crying at his 100th day celebration, all dressed in his tiny hanbok, his sister standing above him with a toy in hand. There was another photo of six-year-old-him crying at the gates of his kindergarten, carrying a bag as big as his little body, his fist poised at his face to rub away the salty tears. There was one of him staring straight at the camera, his fingers grazing the keys of his father’s old piano. There were countless photos – one of him at his high school graduation, arms looped around Younghyun’s shoulders; one of him posing in front of the Seoul Arts Centre after watching the orchestra (he wouldn’t shut up about it for months); another of him and his family in Jeju; a photo of Wonpil in front of his shop on his first day as a florist, a snapshot of the band…
Speaking of the band…
“Wonpil!” Sungjin’s voice filtered through the garden as Dowoon began counting down with his drums. “Are you ready to have some fun tonight?”
The birthday boy couldn’t stop the laughter that rose to his throat. He laughed, but not before choking up in tears. Everywhere around him, he was surrounded by the precious memories of his life, as the band started playing a rock version of Happy Birthday. There were photos of him in his uni days, with that god-awful buzzcut. There were photos of him struggling through the initial years of starting up his florist business, where he lost one too many nights of sleep over numbers that refused to add up. But there were also photos of him by the beach, splashing water at his friends; his bandmates; his brothers. There were photos of them performing – whether it be in karaoke rooms or in front of an audience.
The last photo was not one he recognised. Poised at the end of the walkway, was a two-picture collage. On the left, was a cropped photo of him standing around the birthday boy of the day, Younghyun, along with the rest of his classmates. It took awhile, but Wonpil remembered where it was from – Younghyun’s mother had brought in a strawberry cake to share with the class, and Wonpil had wanted to eat it so badly. He was so sad that he couldn’t stand in front of the cake for the picture that he burst into tears.
On the right, was a much more recent picture. He didn’t remember posing for this one. It was a picture taken from Younghyun’s bakery, of his florist shop front. He was holding the strawberry cake that he took from you with one hand. With the other, he was gesturing at the bouquets on offer, helping a customer. In the photo, his eyes sparkled, and his smile was dazzling.
He wondered, did he always look like that?
Somehow, he knew to turn around. You were watching from a distance, trailing behind him. Your arms were crossed against your chest, a sheepish smile adorning your features. “Sorry, I swear I wasn’t stalking you, you just looked so happy that day.”
What can he say? Beauty really was in the eye of the beholder. “No, it’s fine.” He paused to sniffle, cheeks wet with tears. “You captured me perfectly.”
//
After all of you devoured round after round of barbecued meat, the band settled into their positions and began to play. You watched on as their sole audience, clapping and whooping and singing along to every word, surprising not only the band but also yourself with your impressive memory. You sang your hearts out, you drank, you ate Wonpil’s favourite strawberry cake, and became well-acquainted to the band whose lyrics spoke straight to your heart.
You couldn’t have asked for a better night.
“Y/N?” He punctuated his words with a bright chord, probably a C major, if your ears served you right.
It was a little past midnight. Sungjin and Younghyun were doing the dishes in the kitchen. Dowoon had passed out on the couch half an hour ago after downing one too many shots of Kaoliang. That left just you, and Wonpil, out in the backyard, sitting under the stars.
You were a little buzzed, the level of tipsy that made you feel like you were floating on clouds. Wonpil, however, was a little more than tipsy, judging from the way his body vibrated at his burst of giggles.
“Yes, Wonpil?” You replied just to amuse him, watching him intently from your seat not too far away from his keyboard.
“It was you, wasn’t it?” Another round of giggles ensued.
“What, the photos?” You decided to tease him a little. In all your years of knowing Kim Wonpil, you’d never seen him like this. “How do you know it wasn’t Younghyun or the others?”
He blew a raspberry with his lips. “Nonsense.” He shook his head so violently that you feared he’d fall off the edge of his seat. “All these years, they’d never do something so…” He paused, searching for the right word. “Romantic, for me.”
You blushed. Admittedly, when you brought up the idea to Younghyun, he’d given you one of his signature knowing looks, and asked further about your motives. You had to endure several rounds of intense questioning before he’d agreed to hand over his personal collection of Wonpil photos for you to look over and print out for decorations.
You had to admit, though, you had no idea how much your lives crossed until then. It was almost like you were two parallel lines – extremely close to each other, but never touching. Looking through all of the photos, it wasn’t hard for you to find yourself in the background, especially in those earlier years. Whether it was a shop that you used to frequent, or a park near your school, the backdrops of his photos were so familiar. As you flipped through the photo albums and watched Kim Wonpil grow older through the years, you felt something stirring within you. His smile, his tears, his expressions – they felt familiar to you.
Wonpil paid your silence no mind. “You were my first customer, you know.”
“What?” Your eyes met his at this sudden revelation.
“2011, December 15. The day you left this place.”
You gasped audibly. You remembered, then. Your memories of that day came flooding back in a rush. It had been so difficult to convince your parents to let you go, and whilst your dad insisted on driving you to the train station, you couldn’t bear to look at their sorrowful faces as you left behind your old life.
Younghyun took you instead. He showed up at your doorstep characteristically late, which led to one too many punches and swear words being thrown around. Once you piled your suitcases into the back of his car, you swung the passenger door open, only to find a massive bouquet occupying the seat.
“Younghyun? What is this?” You looked at him from across the driveway, shooting him a nasty glare. “Dude, I don’t like you like that! We’ve talked about this!”
Younghyun shoved a middle finger as he slammed the boot shut. “Please, don’t flatter yourself. Those aren’t from me.”
“What…? Then who are they from?”
Younghyun shrugged. “Secret admirer. I’ve been sworn to secrecy.”
“Yah! Kang Younghyun!”
“Wonpil…” The present you felt your eyes fill up with tears. “I never knew…”
The man laughed bitterly, looking down at his hands, unable to meet your eyes. “Perhaps it was for the best. I left a note to wish you good luck, but I never signed it. I was just…” He stared up into the dark night sky. All of a sudden, he could feel himself sobering up. “I was happy to watch you from afar.”
“Wonpil, I had no idea… If I did, I…”
“You what?” He looked at you, then. Eyes dark, filled with emotions you couldn’t name. Emotions too intense for you to put a finger on. “Y/N, like I said, it’s alright. If anything, it’s my fault for being a coward.”
You held his gaze, too lost in this moment; in him, to look away. You thought through your words very carefully, knowing that a single misstep would be less than desirable for all parties involved. “Well, how about now? Is thirty-one year old Wonpil brave enough?”
Wordlessly, Wonpil stood up and walked over to you. His hands met yours, beckoning you to rise, and he wrapped his arms around your smaller frame. You melted into his embrace, sighing in satisfaction at the warmth and comfort a simple hug from him granted you. Closing your eyes, you placed your ears against his chest, feeling and hearing the vibrations of his heartbeat. No doubt, it matched yours.
In the past week alone, Wonpil was a whole different person to you. Once your kindergarten classmate who loved to cry at any small inconvenience, to the vocalist and keyboardist of your favourite band, and now to the owner of the florist that you stopped by every week to pick up fresh flowers for your home. And yet, it was in the little moments you spent flicking through his photo albums that gave you a deeper understanding of Kim Wonpil. Not only did you find fragments of him in his past, but you also caught glimpses of what your life could look like with him in your future. The thought of being with Wonpil both excited and scared you. Could this be the comfort and familiarity you were looking for – a home, with Wonpil?
“Excuse me,” Younghyun cleared his throat.
The two of you sprung apart in an instant. Your hands flew to cover your face and Wonpil shoved his deep into his pockets.
“If you’re both done being teenage lovebirds, can you please keep the chairs away? Oh, and don’t even think about sharing a bed. I’ll be watching you.” Younghyun stuck his two fingers towards his eyes, and then towards the two of you, for dramatic effect. “Both of you.”
“Shut up, Kang Younghyun!” The two of you groaned in unison.
[epilogue.]
“So, what do wisterias represent?” You asked Wonpil, fingers toying with his as you sat across from him in Younghyun’s bakery. It was his lunch break.
“Hmm, it depends on the colour. Purple is associated with romance, love and good luck. White symbolises new beginnings.”
“So, new love?” You mused.
“Actually, new love is probably better represented by purple lilacs – a budding romance. Why, is this a trick question?” Wonpil asked.
“Nope, just curious.”
“Guys, you know I exist, right?” Younghyun groans exasperatedly from behind the counter. “Can’t believe this is what I get for playing matchmaker…”
