: Whimsical Romance | Slow Burn | Magical Realism
Pairing: Harua (fallen fairy) × Nicholas (grumpy florist with a soft spot)
Themes: Found magic, vulnerability, growing things with care

🌙 ACT I: The Fall

It starts with a crash.
Not thunder. Not lightning.
Just the sound of a winged creature tumbling through a greenhouse skylight and landing face-first in a pot of marigolds.

Nicholas stares, trowel frozen mid-air.

"I'm hallucinating," he mutters.

"You're not," comes a voice from the flowerbed, soft and dazed. "But I might be."

When Harua blinks up at him—dirt in his hair, shimmering but wingless—Nicholas swears the lilies lean closer in curiosity.

🌱 ACT II: A Very Strange Arrangement

Harua can't fly. Can't leave. Can barely stay upright.

His wings are shredded—tattered light and broken gossamer—and no one from the fae realm can sense him here.

So Nicholas offers the only thing he knows:

"You can stay. But you'll help with deliveries. And don't touch the roses. They're dramatic."

Harua agrees.

They start small:

Harua teaches Nicholas the language of flowers ("Don't gift yellow carnations. They're emotionally aggressive.")

Nicholas teaches Harua how to brew sleepy tea with lavender and cinnamon

They tend a tiny side garden together—each herb enchanted just a little

🔥 ACT III: The Magic Between

Days bloom into weeks.

Nicholas catches himself watching the light on Harua's collarbone. Harua starts brushing soil off Nicholas's hands even when it's not there.

"You're not like the stories," Nicholas says once.
"Neither are you," Harua whispers.

One evening, as they press forget-me-not seeds into the earth, Harua's fingers graze his—just barely.

The garden hums.

"Your magic's coming back," Nicholas says.

"It never left," Harua replies. "It just needed somewhere safe to grow again."

🕯️ ACT IV: The Choice

When Harua's wings finally regrow—light spun in silver and morning mist—they're breathtaking.

But they shimmer with departure.

"I should go back," he says. "I'm expected."

Nicholas nods.

"Of course."

Pause.

"Unless you'd rather stay."

Harua smiles—faint, trembling.

"I've never seen morning glories bloom for someone else. Not like they do for you."

He looks around the shop.
At the garden.
At the man who saw broken wings and offered water, not questions.

"I think I want to stay."

They don't live happily ever after.

They live slowly, together—
watering petals, brushing fingertips, planting magic in pots and kisses in silence.

And the flowers never stop blooming.

🌸 Scene: The Confession in Flowers

Setting: After hours in the flower shop. The sky is lilac. The windows fog slightly with summer breath.

Nicholas walks in to find Harua arranging flowers—not for a customer, not for display.

Just... for him.

There are seven flowers in the bundle, laid out like a quiet symphony.

Harua doesn't explain. He simply holds it out and says, almost shyly:

"Don't answer with words."

"Then what do I answer with?" Nicholas asks.

"Whatever grows from this."

Nicholas takes the bouquet with careful hands.

Later, when he closes the shop, he looks them up—
Each flower. Each meaning.

🌼 Chamomile – "Patience. You calmed me."

🌸 Sweet Pea – "Thank you for the time we shared."

🧡 Marigold – "I was scared. But you made me brave."

💙 Forget-me-not – "Don't forget me when I leave."

💜 Lavender – "You're home."

🤍 Daisy – "Innocent love. Honest love."

❤️ Red Camellia – "I loved you before I knew I could."

Nicholas presses his lips to the camellia.

He answers by planting every single flower in a separate pot.
Labels them. Waters them.

Keeps them blooming.

🧚‍♂️ Scene: The Fae Come Calling

Weeks later.

The wind changes.

Harua freezes, fingers tightening around a bouquet of night-blooming jasmine.

"They're here."

A ripple in the garden air.
The scent of metal and stars.

And then—a fae emissary appears in a circle of ivy, glowing faintly gold. Eyes sharp. Smile cruel.

"We've come for the lost one," they say. "The Winged. The Strayed."

Nicholas steps forward.

"He's not lost. He's home."

"This realm is temporary. He belongs to magic."

"Then prove you deserve to keep him," they reply.

The Trial?
Not a duel. Not a spell.

A single question:

"What would you give up for him?"

Nicholas doesn't blink.

"My shop. My voice. My memory. My place in this world."

"And what would you never give up?"

He looks at Harua.

"Him."

The air stills. The fae pause.

And then, slowly—they bow.

"He may stay. If he chooses."

All eyes turn to Harua.

He walks to Nicholas. Takes his hand.

"I already chose."

💬 Final Line:

In the garden behind the shop, two shadows pass between the rows—
one winged, one warm.

Magic stayed not because it was summoned...

But because it was loved.