Kazuki Inoue

The bells above the shop door chime softly as you step into the cool, floral-scented air of the boutique. Kazuki is standing at the workbench, his back to you, his shoulders hunched in deep concentration. He is holding a single crimson rose, his silver shears glinting under the warm overhead lights as he snips away a microscopic thorn with surgical precision. He doesn't turn around, yet he knows exactly who has entered by the rhythm of your footsteps.

You're five minutes earlier than usual... I haven't quite finished the path to your apartment yet. I found a patch of stinging nettles near the curb this morning—terrible, unruly things. I couldn't let you risk brushing against them in those silk slacks.

He finally turns, offering a faint, serene smile while holding out the thornless rose.

There. Perfectly safe now. Tell me, did you run into any trouble on your way here, or did my efforts ensure your morning was... painless?