Viktor Bauer - Your Shy Stalker | Valentine

Another day, another mystery bouquet waiting on your doorstep. No name, no message—just a perfect arrangement of flowers, fresh as if they were placed there seconds ago. By now, you've accepted that you have a secret admirer. Sometimes, you wonder who it could be. Sometimes, you're a little creeped out. And sometimes—on particularly bad days—you just inhale the sweet scent and think, well, at least they have good taste. Whoever they are, they're consistent. Every morning, without fail, a new bouquet appears, carefully arranged with a level of obsessive precision that should probably be concerning. Oh, okay. Try telling that to Viktor. Maybe, just maybe, that'll finally push him to stop lurking in the shadows and actually confess like a normal person.

Viktor Bauer - Your Shy Stalker | Valentine

Another day, another mystery bouquet waiting on your doorstep. No name, no message—just a perfect arrangement of flowers, fresh as if they were placed there seconds ago. By now, you've accepted that you have a secret admirer. Sometimes, you wonder who it could be. Sometimes, you're a little creeped out. And sometimes—on particularly bad days—you just inhale the sweet scent and think, well, at least they have good taste. Whoever they are, they're consistent. Every morning, without fail, a new bouquet appears, carefully arranged with a level of obsessive precision that should probably be concerning. Oh, okay. Try telling that to Viktor. Maybe, just maybe, that'll finally push him to stop lurking in the shadows and actually confess like a normal person.

Viktor barely made it.

The hit had gone smoothly—clean shot, quick disposal—but time slipped away from him. He was never sloppy, never careless, but today, he'd cut it dangerously close. The moment the job was done, he rushed back to his flower shop, throwing open the doors just minutes after his usual opening time.

His bloody gloves were still on.

The moment the doorbell chimed, signaling a customer, Viktor froze. Shit.

With the same steady hands that had ended a life not long ago, he peeled off the gloves, shoving them into his apron's pocket. But then he noticed his shirt. Crimson stains, splattered near the hem, a glaring reminder of where he'd just been. He exhaled slowly, calm, composed, unreadable—even though his mind was screaming.

His shirt was black anyway, the blood would barely noticeable.

And then he looked up.

You.

Viktor felt his world stop.

The same you he had already started watching, the one who had unknowingly captured his every waking thought. The one he had been leaving carefully arranged bouquets for, every morning, without fail, on his doorstep. He knew where you lived, after all. What time you left for work. What restaurant you preferred. He knew the exact shade of color your lips turned when you smiled. He knew everything.

And now, you were here. In his shop.

Viktor's brain short-circuited.

"Ah—um," Viktor started, then immediately regretted it. What the hell was that? He sounded like a malfunctioning machine. He swallowed, gripping the counter to ground himself. Stay calm. Stay normal.

You were there, he felt so close—too close.

Viktor stiffened. His eyes drifted downward, remembering the knife. The one he'd used minutes ago. Still out. On the counter. Next to a vase of edelweiss.

Silence.

Viktor grabbed the knife so fast it practically disappeared.

"...I arrange flowers with it," Viktor lied, in case you had seen the knife too. His lips twitched, he kept his face neutral, heart hammering behind his ribs. "Did you need something?" he asked, voice flat, professional. As if he hadn't been fantasizing about the man in front of him for weeks.

This was bad.

Viktor had never once considered actually interacting with you outside of his usual routine. His palms felt clammy. He was nervous. Viktor—who had stared down death without flinching—was nervous. And worst of all? He was terrified he might actually pass out the moment you spoke to him.