Chapter Text
During his first year of university, Mark had felt as though he was on top of the world. His dreams and aspirations were big, grand even, and the knowledge that after all the hard work and hours put into his education he'd earn a degree that would allow him a comfortable life only made him more ambitious. He'd always been a hard worker, infinitely dedicated in everything he did, but as a university student he studied and sat his exams with such enthusiasm that one might think he wasn't even working to begin with. It's safe to say that he'd never envisioned himself at his current job.
A florist.
Or rather, as his boss preferred to call it, "a connoisseur of the fine art concerning flower vastness and symbolism". Ten loved his big words and ample phrases, but put simply, TENder Blooms (the shop's name being the one instance Ten had lacked artistic vision) sold flowers, oftentimes alongside a sweet, short description of their meaning and supposed healing properties.
The shop was located on a narrow, old street, in a townhouse which had been expertly renovated and converted into the cozy place it was now. Mainly all glass and mirrors, white furniture and pale vases, it exuded a feeling of openness, of vast space. Despite the modernity the window walls brought, overall the shop was old fashioned, elegant and classy. If there was ever a flower shop which transcended time periods, TENder Blooms was it. Ten, forever a designer and artist at heart, had figured the impact the colourful flowers would have in contrast with the white walls and furniture, as they were further reflected in the mirrors hung so very skillfully from place to place.
Indeed, the effect was immediate: in the two years since it had opened, the shop had only prospered, making a name for itself in the business and by far exceeding the fame of the competition. People loved TENder Blooms, either for their unique approach (which could be halted in case a client really did want just a simple bouquet, no questions asked), the professionalism with which things were done, or perhaps the boys themselves. Charm and knowledge are a good combination towards success.
"Don't let this soften you, Mark," Ten would remind Mark on the 26th each month, when he'd examine the month's earnings and everything else Mark was clueless about. "We're top players, but you can never put your feet up. The costumers deserve the best of the best, and that's what we'll make sure to give 'em."
Mark would nod, just as determined as his boss to make TENder Blooms a worldwide renowned flower shop. Or, you know, just a city renowned flower shop. Either worked - though, for obvious reasons, the latter was more probable.
It was true Mark had never even dreamt of working in a place such as TENder Blooms. But, fresh off of college, he'd discovered a degree didn't guarantee you a job, let alone a good one. He'd looked for one for months, but even with all his knowledge in the field, he couldn't find one. It was almost always the same answer: "Mr Lee, you truly impressed us, in more ways than one. However...". There was always another person, more capable, with more experience, or who fit the job requirements better. Figures. His dedication aside, he'd began feeling deflated and hopeless. What if his idealism had been his doom? What if he’d end up homeless? It happened to people, after all, so why couldn’t it happen to him? He was really starting to think of the worst possible outcomes, despite his family’s unwavering support.
Still, he'd been lucky. He'd met Ten through a mutual friend, who'd briefly mentioned the predicament Mark was in. He'd hit it off with Ten from the get go, so much so that a week into knowing him, he'd been asked if he wouldn't consider working at his shop.
"Listen, Mark. Sicheng, one of the guys who used to help me around, was scouted by this huge dance agency few weeks back. I knew it was his dream, so I told him to go for it. And I'm super happy for him, but y'know, I do need someone to help keep the shop afloat," Ten told him over coffee one day. The left corner of his lips curled up into a sly, smug smirk, yet he managed to make even that look charismatic. "So, you don't have a job, I'm one worker short. See what I'm getting at?"
Mark cleared his throat, a bit uncertain. He wasn't one to make reckless decisions concerning his future. And it was hard imagining himself doing anything aside from programming, let alone… this.
"Suppose I do. But you own a flower shop, Ten."
"A symbolism driven flower shop-"
"I know, I know," Mark laughed, amused by Ten's elitism. "But that just means that it's both not in my area of expertise, and far out my league."
Ten shrugged. "You're a smart kid, Mark. You graduated uni with flying colours, and you can't learn some stuff about flowers? Besides, for now I'll be doing most of the work. I'll be the brains of the operation, you be the brawn. C'mon, just say you'll think about it."
Mark did think about it, and a few days later, he was on the second floor of the townhouse, poring over countless books and documents about flowers, while his new boss chilled on the sofa, waiting to answer any questions. If Ten called it an art, he sure was right. There was a lot to learn, but Mark was resolute: he'd get to the bottom of it all.
And here he was, a year and a half later, as much an employee of Ten's as he was a lover of flowers and everything their "fine art" entailed, caught in TENder Bloom's grasp, same as all their clients. More than anything, he was sure he didn't want another job for the rest of his days. He'd come to genuinely adore being a florist, to the shock of everyone who knew him, and had long since left IT in the past. Flowers were delicate and lovely things, bearers of joy, the entire neighbourhood was peaceful and quiet, and his colleagues had quickly become good friends. What more could he want?
---
"But each rose colour also has many meanings, ma'am!" Mark said cheerfully as he explained to his current costumer, an old lady in her 60s, that not all roses were equal. One could not simply buy 'roses'. "Who exactly are you getting them for?"
"Oh, dearie, don’t worry! It's my husband's birthday, but I already know red roses symbolise love," she said. Mark inclined his head with a mischevious grin. She was right, but what if he made this old woman's present even more special?
"You're right, ma'am. Just wait a moment while I put something together for you."
This was one of the simple requests - no arrangements, just one type of flower. But Mark was good at his job now, and he took it very seriously. It had to be nine roses, to symbolise eternal love. He'd make sure some leaves popped up cleanly amidst the roses, for a more natural look. They'd be tied together with a soft, silky white ribbon, quite thick, so as to really accentuate the beauty of the roses. Propped inside the ribbon, a small birthday note, written on the spot by Mark with the help of some key information from the lady, combined seamlessly in a description of the meaning red roses held, of how deep her love for her husband was. Absolutely perfect. She seemed to agree, and she left with a toothless, grandmother-like smile on her face, after hugging Mark tightly.
"Another happy client," he mumbled to himself, barely suppressing a "woohoo!". His personal touch to the notes was always much appreciated by his clients.
"Our ace, Mark!" Taeyong, the oldest employee at TENder Blooms, as well as Ten's best friend, clapped a hand over his back in a warm gesture. He beamed at Mark with clear, sincere eyes. "You're even better at this whole thing than I am, and I've been here years ahead of you. You make me so proud."
Mark's cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink. The pale pink of a peony, he would have liked mentioned.
"Gaaah, Taeyoooong."
"It's true! You're such a natural at this. Tell him, Hendery!" he called out, probably unsure of the younger's whereabouts.
A throaty voice came from behind the azaleas. "Sure, it's pretty cool. Until you remember that Mark's the biggest dork when clients aren't around. An awkward dork, at that. Then it's just miraculous."
Hendery emerged then, face smothered in dirt, his dark brown eyes popping out like coal amidst the mess, holding some pruning shears in his hand. He was only missing his straw hat, else he would have looked like a true gardener. He shot Mark a cheeky, open mouthed smile. Since he was the one who took care of the garden out back, it was a strange occurrence not to see him drenched in either mud or parts of flowers or leaves.
"Ha, you're one to talk! I've lost count of all the times I walked in on you speaking to the flowers," Mark said, crossing his arms and leaning back slightly, as if he was provoking the other, but was visibly joking. Then, in a deeply exaggerated imitation of Hendery's voice, he continued: "You're so lovely today, my cute carnation! My white lilac, you look akin to an angel! And you, my daffodil, shining so bright!"
Hendery threw a yarn at Mark's head, which the latter dodged by kneeling behind the counter.
"Ha, see, you're not denying it!"
"I don't have to!"
“You do if you want me to change my mind!”
“You wouldn’t anyway, why bother?”
"He's grown them all, Mark. Of course he's attached to them," Taeyong said, ever the voice of reason.
"I'm not judging. But we all know he's just as much of a dork as I am." He heard Hendery's abashed laughter, who'd since lifted an arm to rub the back of his neck.
"At least I'm not as awkward as you, doork."
"Nope. You're cool and jock-y and have everyone falling into your arms with just a gesture, just a word," Mark said, grinning from ear to ear.
"Hmph, good try. I don't have anyone falling in my arms. I don't need to either," Hendery said drily, not even momentarily troubled by Mark's teasing.
"Maybe just the flowers," Taeyong supplied. The affirmation surprised both Mark and Hendery, who were used to him softening blows, laughing along with them, but not really making his own jokes. He smiled prettily at them and they all giggled. Mark and Hendery shared a look which implied the end of the so-called dispute, before Hendery grabbed a pair of gloves and headed out back into the garden.
"Must be nice having a friend the same age as you," Taeyong mused. Mark regarded him fondly. He knew Taeyong had dropped formalities with Ten long ago anyway, so he had no reason to be jealous. "You two are adorable," he added. Trust Taeyong to find anything adorable.
Hendery was Ten's younger brother, who loved flowers as if they were part of him. As far as anyone knew, they might as well have been. Hendery had come up with the idea of a flower shop, but had no idea how to open one, since he was only good at the practical, flower part. Ten, having the means to make his brother’s dream come to life, did. While Ten handled the actual business and the complexity of flowers, namely discovering the history and meaning behind each one, Hendery was the one who grew and nurtured them. Though he only reigned over the back garden, he often visited the greenhouses they owned outside of town to make sure the plants were being taken care of properly. Mark supposed this love and attention poured into each and every flower was a big part of the success of their shop.
Later that same day, the clear ring of the shopkeeper's bell announced Ten's arrival. Like everything Ten, it was partly animated and flamboyant, partly graceful and chic, a mixture uniquely his. He plopped down on one of the chairs positioned by the counter, leaning over it in a relaxed manner.
"Guys! How's work going?"
Guys was really referring only to Mark, since Hendery was still out and Taeyong had gone upstairs to take up some of the online orders and check if any of their regular clients had birthdays coming up. Their other, much younger colleague (who was only volunteering at the shop a few times a week), Chenle, was also not around today.
"It's been a pretty quiet day. Not many clients," Mark related and, seeing Ten's giveaway expression, added: "But all who came left happy, with both the service and the flowers. Of course."
"I wouldn't have expected anything less!" He ruffled Mark's hair, a habit he was rather fond of, then started working about his tote back, looking for something. There was a hint of urgency in his moves and that, paired with the fact that he wasn't asking anything else, troubled Mark.
"Is everything alright?"
Ten seemed too immersed in his search to even consider Mark's question.
"Here!" Ten exclaimed after a few moments, pulling out... a piece of paper? "Okay, Mark. Have you heard the news?"
Mark shook his head, hoping for an explanation.
"You know Kun, right?" Kun was the shopkeeper right across the street, who owned a small but rather successful bakery. "Yeah well, I met him down Archway Road, in this downright mansion," (for Ten, every living space that wasn't a townhouse or at least very old was deemed a mansion, a term which he spat out with utmost disgust and a shake of the head) "And he tells me he's moved to a bigger place. A bigger place... As if you need a bigger place to bake the same pies!"
Mark wanted to note that a large bakery made for more diverse clients, and a bigger kitchen would have made Kun's life easier, but decided against telling Ten such a thing. He'd always been rather immutable in his beliefs.
"Long story short, their store's been sold off. We'll have new neighbours!"
"Well, that's not bad news. Kun's an awesome baker, he's earned this."
A slightly disappointed part of Mark thought about Kun's kindness, his splendid pumpkin pies and the sweet smell from the bakery which always made its way over the street. Once in a while, Kun would save him a slice of cake or a little muffin. He was sad to see him go. Still, he knew Kun's business would only flourish in a larger space, so he didn't let his disappointment linger. Ten hummed, as if he didn't fully agree with the change of scenery, but was happy for Kun nevertheless.
"What's that, then?" Mark asked, pointing to the piece of paper Ten had taken out.
"Oh, right! Kun gave me the new tenant's phone number. His name's... " He paused to read the note. "Johnny Suh. Apparently he's going to open up a shop, too."
"Woah, dope! What kind?"
Ten smirked, mischief lighting his eyes. "A music shop!"
"Music? As in like, records and cds and stuff?"
Ten flicked him with the note over the head. "No, Mark, I mean a legit instrument shop! Or something like that, I don't know, I didn't ask. That's what I'm assuming it'll be."
"Then why couldn't it-"
"Mark, these are details. What’s important is I have his number!"
Mark frowned. "Okay... How's that important?"
The older sized him up with a very curious look, like he'd just said the silliest thing of all possible things, and Mark began feeling like a tiny speck floating towards a storm. It was not always easy discerning what Ten was thinking.
"Tsk tsk, such uninspired questions, Mark. We can talk more once you ask the right ones," he said, smiling. In one swift motion, he folded the paper again, this time slipping it in his breast pocket. "Where's Tae, anyway? We were supposed to grab some coffee when he's on break." And he rushed to the stairs, enthusiastic as always, leaving Mark mid conversation.
Mark just shook his head in resignation, watching Ten disappear, but his face brightened at the possibility of new faces in the neighbourhood. Despite not always being the best at social interaction, he liked being surrounded by others, feeling like he could learn from them, grow as a person. He supposed he had to wait to see just what exactly these new neighbours would bring, but he was hopeful and, honestly, excited.
---
The following weeks passed in a raucous blur, what with all the renovations taking place across the street. There was a constant fuss: materials being brought in, wood being cut, the walls taking on a new layer of colour, as well as people popping in and out as they discussed various construction plans and jotted down ideas. For Mark in particular, it came as an enlightening process. He started to feel a newfound pride in realising how hard Ten had likely worked to bring TENder Blooms to its current beauty.
Johnny Suh, the man shrouded in mystery, made his appearance on a gloomy day, right when the constructions began. Despite his intimidating height and good looks, he turned out to be a warm, lively and good-natured man. He won them all over (Ten especially) when he made a joke at his own expense concerning the height difference between him and Ten. It was a joke that could have very easily gone wrong, but he'd handled it with such grace that it soon became obvious to the business-aware side of Mark that he was to make a great shopkeeper. Truth be told, Mark was eager to see his business come to life.
"That's gonna be one... um... glittery sign."
"Won't it just be very bright?"
"Guys, it's literally already both. And it's not even lit up yet."
All those working at TENder Blooms were gathered by the window, watching curiously as their new neighbours finally put up the sign adorning their shop's name.
"Wouldn't have pegged Johnny as the type to come up with such cheesy names," Hendery said. One of the rare moments he looked more put together, he was sipping his caramel macchiato, leaning against the door frame.
"It's sort of inspired though, isn't it? Pluckers, like plucking the strings of a guitar," Taeyong peeped in brightly. Everyone shook their head in unison.
"Funky Pluckers? Seriously? What kind of name is that?"
"It only makes me think of hanky panky, and that is not something I ever want to imagine," Hendery said, physically shuddering. "Yikes, who even created that word anyway? It sounds like a 5 year old came up with it."
"The one good thing about it is that it makes TENder Blooms sound like a work of art. Monet or something," the youngest, Chenle, assessed. At this, they all hummed in agreement, save for Ten, who shrieked a "Hey!", but was readily ignored.
Mark stared with a frown as Johnny, helped by a man he didn't know, stepped down from the ladder and turned the electricity back on to reveal the sign in all its glory. Inside the metal lining which formed the words were light bulbs, illuminating the name and spreading yellow (for 'funky') and brownish (for 'pluckers') light all over their side of the street. A few of the bulbs weren't working, but Mark figured they wouldn't have elevated the piece even if they had.
"I guess it partially makes sense," Ten said, though the statement came out as more of a question. "Rock's all glory and riffs and loud noises and whatever else."
"Thankfully you made our shop reminiscent of classical music," Taeyong said, hugging Ten from behind and making him visibly relax in his arms with a chuckle. "It suits us better."
"Hence why I call it classy," Ten said.
Mark watched them with a sideways glance, genuinely warmed by their friendship, which always seemed to shift something in them.
"The name isn't everything, you know," Mark reminded them. He glanced at Ten with a smile. "Without Ten's brilliant ideas and ways of getting the shop knows, even ours might've never gotten where it is today."
"You flatter me," Ten said, pressing a hand to his heart in jest, but his expression had softened considerably.
"I think they'll do well! Johnny seems professional. And everyone loves guitars!" Chenle said.
"Let's wait and see," came Mark's suggestion.
And wait they did. Indeed, Funky Pluckers already seemed quite popular right from the first week. Johnny used various techniques to get people to come, and it worked. Ten had (of course) been right - Funky Pluckers was a music store, predominantly centred around selling or repairing guitars, though Johnny had also offered Ten to come over to take a look at their record collection, which he obviously did.
But after 7 pm, the shop also just became some sort of... open spot for music lovers? A mini club? Mark wasn't entirely sure - he just knew that every night at 7, they'd start playing music, somewhat dim the lights, and apparently people came in to chill. How they did that was beyond him - the music was not only rock (which... isn't really relaxing to begin with), but it was so, so frustratingly loud that Mark could hear it from right across the street. From inside his own store. Granted, TENder Blooms windows weren't soundproof, and it wasn't that loud inside, but the music was still there - and Mark couldn't stand it.
He wanted quiet - he was used to quiet. If music played, it was because he'd chosen to play it, and it was the one he liked. TENder Blooms usually prided itself on its peaceful environment; people seemed to forget silence was as important as sounds. Occasionally, they'd play classical music, but at a minimal volume. They did and would not bother anyone outside with it.
Mark was beyond irritated, but he tried his best to let it slip. Wait. Be a good, kind, understanding Samaritan. Accept it was perhaps a business strategy. Meditate. Zone out. Ignore it.
A week and a half later, he couldn't stand it anymore.
He’d wondered briefly if he was the absurd one. If, perhaps, he was being too harsh. It had mostly to do with Hendery and Taeyong’s confused frowns when he went on a passionate rant about the plague that is noise pollution, but on day 9 he knew, he felt it deep down, that he was being just the right amount of displeased.
Allies were scarce and hard to come by. Hendery, what with being in the back yard the bigger part of the day, where he could hardly hear anything anyway, wasn’t bothered at all, while Ten’s novel crush on Johnny had made him completely blind. Lovely Taeyong couldn’t hate someone even if he tried, and as for Chenle… “GAH, what is your deal? It’s good music!”. The only person who seemed to agree with Mark was an old man down the street, but he wasn’t much help.
So, simply put: Mark was on his own.
“I’m really going,” he told Hendery, who was looking up at him from an armchair through half lidded eyes, yawning occasionally. It was a quiet evening at work - or it would have been, save for the pure noise coming from Funky Pluckers.
“Mark… We’ve been over this.”
“I wasn’t ready then! I’m ready now!”
"Mate, I’d believe you, and no offence, but it’s like the 15th time I’ve heard you say that. Gotta admit it wears down the credibility a bit, don’t ya think?”
Mark glared at Hendery, feeling just a bit less confident than he had moments ago. Mind you, he hadn’t been fully confident to begin with. Hendery seemed to catch onto that and smiled slyly.
“Cool then, go. Just take Chenle with to film it, I can never have enough blackmail material against you.”
At the mention of his name, Chenle popped out his other earbud, butting in on the conversation.
“Film what?”
“Markie making a fool of himself in front of Johnny and god knows how many others.”
Mark threw his hands up in desperation, an exhausted motion, to the sound of Chenle’s joyful laughter and his ‘Oh, finally!’.
“It’s not my fault they don’t know proper conduct, you know!” he accused, but didn’t stick around for an answer. Instead, he marched out, finding himself in front of the evil neighbouring store. A deep breath later, he steeled himself with the knowledge that, at best, he’d put a stop to this tomfoolery, and at worst, he’d lose all semblance of dignity he had left. Not an easy choice to be faced with, but he was aware he’d receive merciless bullying back at his own store if he didn’t go through with his resolution. So, all things considered, there really was only one right decision.
“Hey,” he said lamely as he walked into rival territory. The greeting got lost in the jarring racket coming from the huge speakers positioned around the room. Consequently, no one paid any attention to him. Mark felt the unpleasant sensation that he’d just been dragged to a concert he didn’t want to attend.
Inside, the store was both exactly as it appeared on the outside as well as utterly different. It was loud, sure, and some of the colour choices were just a bit too bold, but for the most part it felt… cosy. Intimate, even. There was an astronomical amount of pillows and auburn coloured blankets positioned in various parts of the room, among which some people were nestled, and the sheer variety of guitars displayed on the walls was both intimidating and awe-inspiring. In a far corner, Mark also spotted a piano, and briefly mused that it would fit the aesthetic over at TENder Blooms much better.
All in all, there was something unique about Funky Pluckers, no matter how much Mark hated to admit it. And he did - he was here on vital, urgent business. So instead of loitering around the shop waiting to be ensnared by its deceiving appearance, he called out again to no one in particular, hoping an employee would hear.
“Hello to you too! Can I help?” came a voice from somewhere in his proximity, making him jump. Startled, he clutched his heart and inhaled sharply, only to find the owner of the words pop up from behind him with a grin.
The stranger was a young man in what Mark believed to be his age range, dressed in the most inherently rock outfit Mark could imagine - a cashmere shirt with a few of its buttons left unattended, black ripped jeans and a pair of matte black doc martens. However, the authenticity was provided by his smoky eye-shadow and self confident, if slightly cheeky smile, to say nothing of his messy hair. He seemed very comfortable, like he belonged there. He blended in perfectly with the crowd and background, yet simultaneously stood out without even trying. For a moment too long, Mark blinked in surprise at the way the guy simply… shined.
“No need to tell me to get lost if you don’t need any, I just saw you standing near the door awkwardly and saying hello to… well, no one. Kinda points to need of help,” the stranger added, raising an eyebrow at Mark.
“No, I, uh,” Mark began, clearing his throat to remember why he was there in the first place. Figuring he was an employee by his offer of help, he continued: "Not really help, just an issue of sorts?"
"With your guitar?" The young man peeked behind Mark, making him think he was in someone's way. He quickly stepped to the side, only to realize no one was behind him. The stranger laughed, somewhere between real entertainment and light mockery. Balancing the distance between them again, the guy reached to touch Mark's forearm, either to make sure not to lose him again or just by instinct.
"I was just looking for a guitar case," he said, chuckling. "Since we are a guitar shop and all. If... all the guitars hadn't been enough of a hint."
For a moment, Mark had actually forgotten. "Oh, I... yeah. I mean, no, it's not a guitar. Could I talk to Johnny?"
“You could,” said rocker-boy - as Mark had resolved to call him to make up for the lack of introductions-, resting both his hands on his hips in a comfortable stance. “If he was here. He’s not, though.”
Mark frowned. He didn’t like people not getting straight to the point. He was also trying veeery hard not to go turn that infernal music off himself so he wouldn’t have to speak three times louder than normal.
“Ah. Okay… Is he coming back any time tonight, then?”
“Probably not. Had to drive out of town for a couple days and all that. You could pop by Thursday if you want him personally. But I’m here! And I’m pretty sure I know the works just as well as him. So ask away.”
There was something incredibly cocky about the guy in front of him. Mark couldn’t tell what it was, especially since he generally got along with most people and they’d only exchanged a few words, but this rocker-boy had a demeanour that just… irked him, as arrogant as that sounded. However, when Mark wasn’t in his element and felt an awful lot like he was faced with someone he couldn’t understand, there was an impressive pull to make for the closest exit.
“No, it’s cool, no worries. I can wait until tomorrow. Thanks though.”
“You sure? Unless it's money related, I've got you covered.”
Why did he have to explain himself? “Yeah, yeah. It's fine. I’ll see you later… I guess.”
And with that, he turned to leave, but rocker-boy only cackled in a very, very aggravating manner. Or, so it sounded to Mark, who’d just about been deafened by the music and who was too annoyed as was to take happily to a guy he didn’t know laughing at something he said.
He caught a glimpse of the other’s carefree expression when he said: “Alright, your choice, big guy!”
Big… guy? Big guy? Him? Called big guy by a stranger he hadn’t known more than a couple minutes? Big guy? This is where he drew the line. Barely suppressing a huff, he faced rocker-boy fully again and clenched his jaw in vexation.
“Oh, so you want to show your expertise, yeah? Then how about you help me with this problem I’ve been having for over a week,” he declared loudly. By the way rocker-boy’s expression had shifted into bewilderment, it was clear to Mark that he sounded and probably looked angry beyond any logical reason. But Mark had honest to God had enough and wasn’t about to stop now.
“This!” He gestured emphatically to the space around them. “For days, days, I’ve had to put up w-with this… this music being showcased everywhere in this neighbourhood. My quiet neighbourhood! I can’t even put together a garland after 7 pm without hearing a bass coming from across the street! Would you like your art to be disturbed by someone else’s ignorance?” When it appeared the stranger had a mind to answer, Mark lifted a hand to silence him. “Sure you wouldn’t. Now I’ve got nothing against your parties or whatever, but like why, why must they be so loud? You could have just as much fun without bombarding everyone else with your stuff. And now I come into your store and you act like nothing's going on? Nothing? Calling me big guy? Brilliant. You said you could help, so here’s your chance! Just turn down that music once and for all, and I'll be deeply impressed,” he finished with a proper scowl.
To his credit, rocker-boy had trained his initially shocked features to a chilly expression. He folded his arms and leaned back on one heel, thus still bravely holding Mark’s gaze -and, admittedly, intimidating him a bit-, and then just partially turned his head to the side and whistled.
“Xuxi! Turn the music down, will you?” he signalled to a lanky boy near where the controls were, who did as told without question. Music at a reasonable volume now, he turned back to Mark and shot him the most saccharine smile imaginable. Mark felt his stomach churn at the sight of it and the realisation that everyone was staring at them.
“Well, there you go! I fixed it. Happy now?”
That couldn’t be it. Or… could it? Had he misread rocker-boy?
“Oh, um…” He paused to gauge the other’s intentions, only to be met by a sweet and innocent rocker-boy smiling at him just as before. “Yeah. Super happy. Uh… I- thanks?” He wanted to say it was a long time coming, or that it should have been like this from the beginning, but the stranger's impassivity to his earlier insults left him nonplussed.
His benefactor grabbed him by the shoulder, nodding as he somewhat turned him towards the exit. “Anything for our neighbours! You needed only let us know our behaviour was bothering you, uh…” He made a small hand motion, implying he didn’t know his name.
“Mark.”
“Mark. Yes. Glad to know I could be of help!” he announced. “Was there anything else you needed?”
“Uh… no. T-that was it, I guess. I didn’t mean to be rude, but it was just so loud-”
“No, I get it, I get it. No worries, Mark. Anyone can tell you I aim to please.”
Mark awkwardly lifted his hand to rub the back of his neck. “No, but thanks, really.”
"Of course, of course. But if that's all, then..."
"I'll let you get back at it," Mark said, still confused.
“Much obliged, Mark.”
Though his replies sounded like mere sarcasm or ridicule, the easy-going grin on his face appeased Mark’s suspicion, and he even left smiling himself.
Mark skipped down the street as he returned to his own shop, glancing back only to bask in the pure joy of knowing that he’d played a paramount role in the welfare of his neighbourhood, in the tranquility that now washed over the streets. Things had gone better than he’d even anticipated, and though he had to endure the guilt of having snapped at the kind stranger who’d restored his peace, he could only return to his colleagues with a sense of pride and achievement due to his victory.
Just as he was about to enter TENder Blooms, however, his whole world came crashing down. Again, despite all sense and expectation, the riffs of a guitar could be heard coming from behind him. Loud, clear, resounding. Exactly like before, but now it felt completely and entirely meant for him, meant to grate his nerves in the worst way possible.
Betrayed and beyond infuriated, he glowered back at the place he’d just left. He located rocker-boy among those hanging by the window, and was shocked to see him watching him. He didn’t need good eyesight to make out the coy smirk on his face, and he only took one last, enraged look at him before storming inside his shop, knowing without a shadow of doubt that he'd just made an enemy.