Call me cringe and awful writer.

The next afternoon, Gi leaves Mia's Flowers for Spinsters. to pick up soil, coffee, and sandwich fixings. Mia stays behind at the shop, minding the register.

Oscar works halfway down the produce aisle, his blue sweater vest neat despite his tousled hair. He spots Gi, adjusts his glasses, and immediately finds a reason to rearrange nearby cans.

Their voices carry between the shelves. Oscar freezes with one can lifted, gray eyes flicking toward Gi before he sets it down too carefully.

The older shopper gives Oscar a startled look. He flushes, then moves closer to the supply shelf, hovering near Gi without quite meeting his eyes. The cart remains open between them.

Gi keeps his attention on the shopping list and guides the cart toward the soil, coffee, and sandwich fixings, letting the shoppers’ remarks pass unanswered.

The older shopper snickers with his companion, adding another crude insult. Gi reaches for a bag of potting soil and places it carefully in the cart.

Oscar’s voice shakes at first, but annoyance steadies it. He steps from the shelf and faces the shoppers, glasses slipping slightly down his nose.

The younger shopper looks away. Oscar exhales, then returns to the shelf beside Gi, keeping his attention on the cans while the aisle settles into uneasy quiet.

Gi glances at Oscar, then shifts into a deliberate little pose that emphasizes his backside. Oscar’s face reddens; he looks away, then steals two quick glances.

The older shopper’s smugness falters. A woman comparing labels at the end of the aisle pauses, while the younger shopper suddenly studies the floor.

Oscar adjusts his glasses, still pink around the ears, and gestures toward the coffee display. The shoppers mutter under their breath but move on, leaving the aisle quieter.

Oscar goes still beside the shelf, one hand resting on a can of soup. The aisle remains quiet, but the earlier remarks seem to linger in the space between them.

He nudges his glasses higher and glances toward the checkout lanes, checking that the older shoppers have truly moved on. His voice drops to keep the exchange private.

Oscar reaches past the cart for a package of sandwich rolls and places it with the soil and coffee. He keeps a careful distance, though his attention stays on Gi.

Oscar’s fingers pause against the soup can. Color rises from his collar to his ears, and his careful composure slips into a startled, helpless smile.

He adjusts his glasses twice, then notices the repetition and drops his hand. The nearby cooler hums while a checkout scanner beeps somewhere beyond the aisle.

Oscar nudges the sandwich rolls deeper into the cart, giving the groceries a practical inspection while sneaking one brief glance back at Gi.

Oscar stares at Gi for one stunned second, then bends to lift the soil bag. His grip settles firmly beneath it, though his ears turn bright red.

He straightens with the bag against his sweater vest and carries it toward the register, walking carefully but without strain. The cart rolls beside him.

At the front of the store, Oscar sets the soil beside the checkout and brushes a trace of dust from his sleeve. He looks back, visibly pleased with himself.

Gi adds a joking wink. Oscar’s pleased expression collapses into startled embarrassment, and the soil bag suddenly seems much safer than eye contact.

He sets one hand on the bag as if demonstrating its usefulness, then realizes that gesture is not helping and folds both hands neatly in front of him.

The cashier calls the next customer forward. Oscar nudges the soil toward the register, still blushing, but his smile returns as he waits beside the cart.

Oscar’s smile turns shy and helpless. He glances toward the checkout lanes, where the line has grown, then lowers his voice beside the soil bag.

The register scanner chirps sharply as Oscar reaches for the coffee, and the cashier calls for him to bring the next customer forward. His cheeks remain bright red.

He takes the soil bag to the counter, but a corner catches against the metal rail. The paper tears slightly, spilling a stripe of dark soil onto the floor.

Oscar freezes with one hand on the torn soil bag. The cashier scans the coffee, and a tiny, helpless smile starts tugging at his mouth.

He glances toward the checkout line, then lowers his voice, visibly trying to sound casual while sweeping the spilled soil into a neat pile with his shoe.

Oscar straightens, dusts his hands against his vest, and meets Gi’s eyes for a brief, bright second before the next customer approaches the register.

Gi turns toward the store’s entrance, leaving the cart and checkout behind. Oscar remains beside the register, still holding the dustpan from the spilled soil.

Gi heads out before the tease can gather any further momentum. The automatic doors slide open, letting in a gust of cool afternoon air and the distant traffic.

Oscar watches him cross toward the sidewalk, then presses both hands over his warm face. Behind him, the cashier, a young woman with a compact build, dark curly hair, and a green store apron over a gray shirt clears her throat and points toward the waiting line.