Chapter Text
The tinkling of the bell above the wooden doorframe was commonplace; his grandfather's florist shop had the tendency to attract bustles on early Sunday mornings. Artificial colognes and perfumes choked the light floral smell of the space in stifling waves, and Daichi Sawamura (with deep jealously) noted that someone clearly had time to pick up a warm muffin and a coffee before he’d arrived.
Lucky bastard.
Of all his grandfather’s peculiarities, his insistence on opening the shop so early was the one met with the most distaste and confusion. The sky still looked as though it was painted delicately with strokes of oranges and pinks and purples, and Daichi hadn’t even had the time to pick up a coffee before he'd clocked in.
Greeting new customers with a plastered smile, Daichi talks them through the basics ('Flowering plants on the left hand side, ferns and non-flowering plants on the right. Ornate pots and vases are in the back to your left, plant care and garden supplies are in the back to your right, and if you need any seeds or saplings, just let me know and I'll show you where to find them') answering questions he can handle and directing all the rest to his grandfather, who was more well-versed in the language of flowers and plants than anyone he’d ever met.
Juggling customer needs and his constant glances towards the clock on the wall (for the sake of his sanity), he is wary of the excruciating pace at which the hands seem to tick.
//
It is ten o'clock when Daichi has become preoccupied with a flamboyant pompous bastard of a customer, whose insistence on finding the perfect floral arrangement that 'screams fuck you' threatens to send him over the edge.
He isn't paid enough for this.
It doesn't take long for the conversation to turn one-sided, the man rattling off the necessary details and specificities as Daichi nods, furrowing his brow in mock understanding, despite his aversion to the discussion altogether. The requirements are, in truth, ridiculously specific and far fetched, especially for a small florist shop in Miyagi, and after explaining that the range of flowers sold were meant to be pleasant and not at all offensive, he directs the man to an alternative florist in Tokyo, who could more easily cater to his desires.
It is only when the man leaves, striding out of the store and running a hand through his swooping brown hair - his gait self-aware and every bit intimidating - that Daichi feels as though he can breathe again.
//
Business was usually at it's slowest during mid - afternoon.
It was only to be expected; the air was far too hot and sticky around this time and most people within the area were probably beginning their lazy commute home. It is evidently the least excitement Daichi experiences on a daily basis, and today is no exception. The Rubik's cube that was usually kept in the left cabinet under the counter (for emergencies only) now flips in his hands, fingers skimming reds and yellows, blues and greens until the colours blur in front of his eyes and Daichi feels slightly dizzy. Maybe it would be best for him to clock out; in five minutes he would've finished an hour more than his required six.
However, the bell tinkles once more, and Daichi sighs loudly before standing to greet the customer, who was likely an old woman wandering the area for the evening.
Except, when the door opens and the customer steps inside, Daichi realises that it is, in fact, not an old woman, but a boy. Leanly built, but a face that was structured much like his own, albeit slightly softer, in terms of age and maturity.
He swallows, before smiling widely.
"Hi, welcome to Sawamura florists. . . "