Chapter Text
A small flower shop opened just next door to where Nanami Kento worked. It was nondescript. Its addition to the block of bright and nightmarish stores was unremarkable. Except for the one fact that, recently, its customers had been consistently stealing most of (if not all) the parking spots anywhere near his building.
While Kento didn’t hold warm feelings for driving, the unfavorable task had become more annoying as he had to account for the congestion outside Forever Flowers every morning. This posed an issue. Majorly due to how fast Kento’s boss handed him new assignments on a daily basis. Causing a throb of a headache to start up right behind his left eye.
On a disgustingly bright Tuesday, in the middle of January, Kento investigated.
09:21 AM Nanami: Do you have any idea what is up with Forever Flowers?
10:00 AM Haibara: Good MORNING!
10:00 AM Haibara: My sleuthing tells me it’s just opened like two weeks ago and it has this hot dad owner?????
10:00 AM Haibara: Anyway, wanna have lunch at 12:30?
12:22 PM Nanami: It would be a good morning if I didn’t have to park three blocks away. And for money. I am not paid enough to withstand these circumstances. If this persists, I will need to take action.
12:24 PM Nanami: Lunch sounds good. Meet you in the cafeteria.
12:26 PM Nanami: I made extra onigiri. Double mayo.
12:26 PM Haibara: Uh-oh! And yay! Double mayo!
12:27 PM Haibara: Have you seen Suguru yet? Double-breasted suit. Yum!
It didn’t take long for Kento to find Forever Flowers on Instagram. The account was flooded by pictures of gaudy blossoms, placed together with, what he presumed, was precise deliberation to color and composition. He didn’t let his eyes linger too long on them. He found a contact email, and, after taking a long sip of his coffee just before starting work on a new report, he began typing.
From: Nanami Kento
Sent: Tues, 19/01/2021 1:34 PM
Subject: Parking space issue
To whom this may concern,
I work for Jujutsu Design, the firm right next door, and I have concerns regarding the recent lack of parking spots in the vicinity. I expect a prompt solution. There are plenty of parking spaces for customers two blocks away.
Regards,
Nanami Kento.
There. Concise and to the point. He finished off his coffee before pressing send on the email. Now, he waited. Or tried to before his subordinates flocked to his desk, asking for assistance. He put the whole encounter behind him and poured himself another mug.
The reply came during a morning that was so busy that Kento barely had a second to rub the bridge of his nose under his glasses. Beginning of the year reports have never been promising and were becoming his least favorite aspect of office work. However, he knew that if he delegated any portion of this task to anyone else, he’d most likely end up revising and editing after them. He was a known stickler for certain standards. The existence of a response in his inbox promised to remove one problem off of the tower he’d been accumulating.
From: Gojo
Sent: Fri, 22/01/2021 4:34 PM
Subject: Re: Parking space issue
Hey,
My bad.
Will work on it.
Best,
Gojo.
Kento couldn’t help but squint at the contents of the response to his email. Was that it? A ‘my bad’? He sniffed, wondering just what kind of inconsiderate jerk (Gojo?) owned a flower shop and yet had no tact in replying to complaints. Finding his fourth mug of coffee empty, he let his fingers fly over the keyboard.
From: Nanami Kento
Sent: Fri, 22/01/2021 4:44 PM
Subject: Re: Re: Parking space issue
Gojo (Is that your last name?),
As per my last email, I required a prompt solution for this issue but as of late, this morning at 8:00 AM to be precise, it persists.
He paused just before signing off. Did this Gojo even deserve his regards? Deciding otherwise, he sent it with a plain “Nanami.”
His phone vibrated in the inside pocket of his jacket, draped over the back of his chair, so he reached back to check it.
The text was predictably from Minato, his older brother, asking for the usual. He swiftly made a bank transfer, hoping this time, Minato might pace himself. He ignored the jab of disappointment in his chest and went back to work.
Forty-eight hours later, Kento was bleary-eyed. He’d stayed up all night listening to Yu talk about the new video game he had purchased to “have an in” with the very elusive Geto Suguru. Kento could easily tell Yu that he didn’t have to do much to unlock Geto’s back-story. Anyone with any deduction skills could see that Geto lingering by Yu’s desk, discussing the latest mechanical pencils designs like they were a matter of life or death, was really code for “I love you” and “Please, marry me.” But Kento didn’t interfere. He was a good friend like that. But just because he put out good energy out into the world didn’t mean he was treated well by the universe in return.
Exhibit A: the problem of finding a parking space was still a pain in his back.
Even at five in the morning, he’d had to circle four blocks before he’d found a decent spot, and even then, he’d had to feed a meter all of his coins before he could walk away.
Clearly, Gojo had done nothing to solve Kento’s problem. No problem, he’d just wake up half-an-hour earlier and beat the morning rush. Not.
Rather than send another email, which would most likely be disregarded like the first or ignored like the second, Kento decided to take matters into his own hands.
“Sorry, Yu, I’ve got something to look into so I won’t be able to have lunch with you.”
Yu stood by his desk, bento-box wrapped in a paisley cloth in his hands. He pouted. It was hard to say no to that, but if Kento didn’t find a solution soon, he might just walk into the office and start cutting people. Deep down, he knew that his problem wasn’t truly the cheery customers leaving the store with bouquets of flowers but he would rather not look that closely at himself.
“Aw, sucks! Have fun terrorizing a flower shop owner.” Yu chuckled. How Yu knew the precise details of Kento’s plans was beyond him, but Kento had long stopped wondering how his best friend worked.
With a salute, he forwent having his lunch, expecting his break to be consumed by this headache called Forever Flowers. (What an idiotic name, especially since flowers were such ephemeral creatures. Gifting someone a goldfish might prove to be more romantic than an array of dying weeds.)
He strode outside in his shirt, then immediately regretted it since the weather still had a biting chill to it but his pride kept him from circling back and getting his jacket. He wondered just what kind of face with which he should confront this man, who has no decorum in responding to serious emails.
The midday sun was struggling to filter through the clouds gathering overhead, and he looked up into the gray sky and wished for sunshine. He walked right up to the shop and peered into the windows. The flower shop was empty for a change. (Not that he spent much time noting the comings and goings of enthusiastic patrons.) The exterior of the shop had rows and rows of neatly situated pots. The glass window gleamed, shined and glossy. At its very center was emblazoned a blue flower with the sign for infinity. The words ‘Forever Flowers’ mocked him a little. Before he pushed the door open, he took his phone out. Curiosity and all of that. He googled the flowers.
His search engine identified them as Baby Blue Eyes. It was a peculiar looking plant, small but so bright and arresting in its shade.
Not thinking much of it, Kento walked in. The shop was neater than he’d expected. There were several stations for differently shaped and sized pots of flowers, all kept in chilled fridges that ran across the sides of the spacious front room. At the back sat a long bar of dark Cherrywood. Behind it, he saw high shelves of so many ribbons and boxes and even some clear fridges filled with small squares of chocolates. He swallowed, wondering if ignoring his lunch had been a mistake after all.
The cash register was empty. A sign reading Out Lunching sat atop it, with a small bell right next to it. He assumed its purpose was to alert the worker on duty of any customer’s arrival. Why didn’t they just install a bell over the door?
He was contemplating pressing it, but guilt over interrupting someone’s “lunching” put a crank in his determination to get this issue cleared up today, when a bright voice sang, “Welcome, dear customer. How may I help you?”
The man appearing out of thin air was tall. Taller than Kento, that was. With a mess of light pale hair that was straddling the thin line between blond and platinum. He wore a dark blue shirt that brought out the color in his eyes and a black apron. Baby blue eyes. That made sense now.
A voice in his head said, What the hell? Stop thinking of this man’s eyes and concentrate.
“Are you the owner?” Kento asked tersely.
There was barely a responding nose wrinkle at his curt tone. Impressive. He usually intimidated with much less. “Yes, I am! Name’s Gojo,” he replied, offering a big hand.
Kento moved on auto-pilot; partially out of habit and partially because he was curious. Besides, it was simply polite. Except in extraneous circumstances where he’d rather eat a rotten apple than touch someone’s hand.
But Gojo’s hand seemed undisturbed by his choice of career. There wasn’t a speck of dust or dirt marring his long fingers or under his nails. And his grasp, which was firm but not attempting to break every bone in Kento’s hand, was warm without being sweaty and uncomfortable. It was just right.
Kento pulled away, feeling a strange twinge of uneasy tightness to the left of his chest.
“Can I interest you in some flowers?” Gojo said.
Kento blinked. He’d been intent on staying on topic but Gojo’s question scattered his thoughts to the wind.
“No. The last thing to interest me is flowers,” Kento said honestly because he was nothing if not scathingly so. Then, he went and shared his opinion of said creatures. “Logically, it’s useless, in my opinion, to give someone something that’ll only wither in a matter of time and of which they’ll surely dispose in a day or two.”
Gojo’s grinning eyes widened minutely, his beam losing a watt or two of its brightness. Kento shouldn’t notice it, but did anyway. It was on account of him keeping his guard up, of course, not because he couldn’t stop glancing at Gojo’s face. Or because Gojo’s eyes were arrestingly aquamarine in a way that should be restricted to renaissance paintings.
“Interesting” was all Gojo said.
Glad that that topic was well and truly over, Kento began, “The reason I am here is regarding my email.”
Gojo crossed his arms over his chest, but he looked far from closed-off, his face intent and plainly attentive. “Ah. You’re Nanami Kento.”
“Yes. That is my name,” he said, fighting the urge to push up his glasses. Then, he remembered that he forgot to take them off. They were strictly the blue-light blocking type and weren’t necessary at all times. Their presence was an admission of his need for a guard against direct eye-contact. He was glad for it now. “As per my last email, from a week ago, the issue persists…” he trailed off, hoping Gojo would supply him with a full name.
“Call me Gojo.”
“Gojo-san.”
“Well, I don’t know what to tell you, Nanami-san.” Why did Kento’s name roll off Gojo’s tongue like that? It fell from his faintly pink lips like a secret finally shared. “The customers are in a hurry, and, try as I might, I can’t keep track of them all.”
There was that casual attitude Kento detested, and it was underlying every word, which was to say that Gojo only had excuses to offer him. Kento’s jaw would ache later but he ground his teeth hard. If there was one thing he disliked, it was overly-offhand people.
“Try harder. It is a major inconvenience to other people and I wonder if the city officials approve of a business causing such ruckus.” It was a cheap move, threatening with law interference, but he’d been at this line of work for too long to change his habits. If he needed anything done, he pushed.
Now, Gojo’s gaze hardened. His humor was wiped, replaced by caution. Steel resided behind those blue, blue eyes. He wasn’t all sunshine and daffodils, then? Kento felt oddly content knowing Gojo could look like this. Like Kento had stirred him up.
“I’m sure that’s unnecessary.” He was right but Kento was, so to speak, on the warpath.
“I will see about that.”
Having spoken his piece, Kento gave Gojo one last, prolonged glance and left. (And if, before Kento turned away, his eyes lingered a little longer over the precise curl of Gojo’s smug little smile, it was no one’s business but his.)
+
The next day, Kento found a parking spot in under two minutes. The flower shop had a line of customers out of the door.
Gojo spotted him instantly as he stepped out of his car.
“Good morning, Nanami-san!”
Gojo was wearing another shade of blue, a milky hue that reminded Kento of the candies his mother used to give him and Minato. While his brother had eaten his sweets in record’s time, going back for seconds, Kento squirreled his away, poring over the slight powdery feel of them, then tucking them under his tongue, spreading sweetness over his taste buds.
Unperturbed by Gojo’s familiarity, Kento gave him a nod and moved on. On his way into the elevators, his phone rang.
He answered his brother’s call in a hushed voice, “Hello, aniki.”
“Kento. The money you sent isn’t enough. I need more.” No good morning from his brother.
“I just transferred fifty thousand the other day.”
Minato clicked his tongue, the sound grating. “And it’s not enough. Come on, it’s your brother here, not a stranger. Help me out, yeah?” Except all Kento had done the past two decades was help out Minato in one capacity or the other.
He sighed away from the receiver. “Fine. Will another fifty do?”
“No. Make it seventy this time.”
That meant nearly a hundred thousand yen since the year’s beginning but pointing it out would fall on deaf ears. Minato never cared how he was inconveniencing Kento with his constant requests for more money and Kento never made a point of complaining. He knew his brother would never change.
+
At lunch time, just as Kento was putting the finishing touches on a document, he was interrupted by a loud couple of knocks at his cubicle divider.
“Knock, knock,” Yu said, because one form of disruption was never enough.
“Yes. I heard the knocking.” A headache persisted in the corner between Kento’s jaw and ear. He had no idea that was even possible but his body was excelling in pissing him off.
“You got an admirer.”
He frowned. Finishing off one last read-through to make sure the report was spelling-mistakes free, he rolled his chair over. Yu stood in rolled up sleeves, a broad grin broadcasting his pleasure over whatever admirer entailed. His hand pointed at the large pot of baby blue orchids. It was taking up eighty percent of Kento’s desk, which was space that he needed for useful things like his stapler and his staple remover. Instead, he was affronted to see his things had been pushed to the corner, hence not in their proper, rightful place, to make space for this monstrosity.
“What in God’s name—” he paused, noticing the ribbon wrapped around the pot. It was a familiar baby blue. The writing printed across its length was in the stylistic phrase of Forever Flowers.
“Oh.”
“There’s a card, too! How exciting for you, Kento, finally.” Yu mimicked wiping away a tear. Kento was tempted to break his knee.
Instead, he vowed to add pickles to Yu’s onigiri tomorrow for that sarcasm alone. He picked up the card. “Yes, I can see that.”
“Read it, I wanna know who in their right mind would send you flowers.”
Kento’s cubicle neighbor, Ino, came back from the bathroom, noticed the loud disturbance on Kento’s desk, and said, “These are orchids.” What another useful and necessary addition to what was shaping up to be a riveting conversation.
“I’m well aware,” Kento murmured, confirming that yes, the card was emblazoned with the same logo he’d seen printed across the shop’s window. This was Gojo’s work.
Orchids can mean many things, but blue ones, especially, represent rarity.
Here’s my ‘useless gift’ of rare blue orchids for a rare grumpy asshole.
Have a nice day.
Ino and Yu were startled by the laugh that broke free from deep within Kento’s chest. When it lasted longer than three seconds, they started poking him with his own sharpened pencils. He swatted them away. He couldn’t wipe the smile off of his face. It must be a side-effect of stress. But, weirdly enough, that day, as Kento ate his lunch with more relish, he couldn’t help but notice that his headache was slowly dissipating.