Flower of Paradise Lost | Lookism x f. reader

In the midst of it all, there was you.

Prologue

Most days are spent helping out your parents. Pink, puffy apron wrapped firm around your body, polka dot kitchen gloves embracing your palms, and hair tied neatly behind your back; the fresh scent of walnuts invades every corner of the room, taking its usual place between the gaps of your skin.

"[Name], the customer is waiting for you," your mother calls hurriedly, waving a hand. She says it like she's concerned. You know what she actually means. "That one scary looking guy—he always asks for you, you know?"

Sticking your tongue out, you pull the pan of fresh pie from the oven. "I promised to help you run the store today. I'm just doing that!"

"He seems eager," she says, face contorted in worry, despite patently meaning it as a tease. She's just doing it to make fun of you. It makes you smile, eyes closing the slightest bit.

You hum, turning over to look at her. She's still dressed in her morning clothes. Her hair falls atop her shoulders, bouncing and curling, probably because she slept in, like always. You can practically see the fatigue in her steps.

"Go back to sleep, mom," you say cheekily. Her skin colours faintly, but you're already turned back to the pie in your hands before you can get the opportunity to goad her.

"No," she says.

Your mother is definitely the most stubborn woman you know, you think. Maybe Yeonhui is a close second. They couldn't be anymore similar. Even their relationships are similar; sometimes you want to ask Yeonhui if she'd like to see a picture of your parents in their youth. Her and Sinu resemble them, you believe, despite all they'd deny it. It causes you to wonder if your mother would get along with her, if you introduced them. And it also makes you wonder how you manage to deal with such conflicting personalities all the time.

You stand up, gently patting the pie tin. Sprinkling a few walnuts onto its surface, you ignore the glares shooting lasers through your skull. She'd appreciate all the work you did, sooner or later. You grab a nearby box from the stack piling on the kitchen counters. It's blue, reminiscent of your store logo. And there's a cute walnut picture in the middle. It's simple and suitable for a walnut store. The usual routine continues; you slide the pie into the box, close it, and wrap it up with a red ribbon. Much like the ribbon decorating your hair, it stands bright and vibrant.

"You're still a child, a teenager," your mother lectures, "you should be enjoying your time out with friends, maybe studying every once in a while, and having a social life! Helping out your little, old parents isn't the only thing in the world."

Her eyes soften as she watches you take off your gloves (which were gifted by a close friend, for your birthday). And she opens her mouth to keep going, to scold you, to force you to leave, but something stops her—

"I do all of that already," you say, as a matter of fact. She's obviously irritated by the rebuttal.

"I don't care. Go and do it some more!"

"Not everything is about having a social life," you remind her.

"Young lady, you're lucky you're so cute," your mother says, crossing her arms over her chest. You nod in agreement. You really are lucky you're cute. Many individuals tell you that. Sinu ensures you know so, every time he pinches your cheeks and coos at you like you're a baby. Someone needs to tell him he's only four years older than you (Old Face glares in disgust). But your mother seems impatient. So you nod again to let her know you don't disagree.