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“Good morning!”
You’d already decided that the chime of Oikawa Tooru’s voice was too happy for the early morning before even stepping foot into the flower shop. Flashing him a feeble smile, you attempted to kindle a good mood within yourself - but to no avail.
For the past week or so, it was as though a phantom spirit had taken control of your body, forcing the life out of you and thieving you of all motivation to even leave your bed. It was a wonder you’d made such an effort to get to the flower shop at seven o’clock in the morning - albeit with a lot of pep talking and practically bullying yourself into doing so.
“Hello.” Your voice echoed the fatigue that had seeped into every bone in your body and was refusing to leave it, yet whether the boy noticed this or not, he didn’t say.
“How may I help you today?” he asked, leaning his forearms on the counter lazily as he watched you carefully walk to the counter.
Damn, it was an effort to even walk . Your body yearned for the safe cocoon of sheets that you’d resided in for the past week, much to the dislike of all your friends. And boyfriend. A sour feeling in your stomach curled around and around at the thought of your boyfriend. Gently trying to push it aside, you plastered an even more pleasant smile upon your face.
Since when had you allowed yourself to be so mindful of what others do?
Oikawa simply smiled patiently at you, calmness surrounding him as though he’d set up a shield of it that nobody could see. The volleyball player had known you since high-school, and you’d been mildly surprised to find out that whenever the cheery boy wasn’t obsessively playing volleyball, he was found at the local flower shop that was located just a few streets from your own.
And you’d grown somewhat close, through arranging flower bouquets for different occasions and simply passing each other by in stores and on the street. Not close enough to be considered friends, but you both respected and enjoyed the small amounts of time you’d spend together.
“Well…” you began, placing a thoughtful hand upon your chin as your mind pieced together the jigsaw of words in your mind, trying to find a polite way to say it.
“How do you say, ‘I hate you, and I hope you rot in hell, and I never want to see you again,’ in flower language?”
A perfect eyebrow arched itself, the only indication of his confusion as he pushed himself off the counter, a half smile growing upon his face as though he’d just been revealed one of the greatest secrets of the universe. You didn’t return the smile, and he seemed to note the severity in your words as a bitter afterthought, and his eyes grew an inch wider as he surveyed you.
“What? Wai- has something happened, (Y/N)?”
“Hmm?”
“What’s your boyfriend done? He’s been such a frequent customer recently; I thought things were going really good for you,” he mused, “but it’s not my place to ask, I suppose. I’m sorry,”
“The dick’s a two-timing …” you forced yourself to stop the words tumbling from your mouth, your tongue felt like black ash in your mouth, and you frowned at the fiery words that you wanted to pour from your mouth.
He didn’t deserve to take the brunt of your rants; you barely knew the poor guy!
“I’m sorry,” was his solemn reply as he wandered over to the lilies.
“Now… let me see. Orange lilies literally mean, ‘I hate you,’ if that’s all you want to say…”
You nodded patiently, following him over to the bunch of flowers he was observing. Absentmindedly, he picked up one of them, showing it to you with deft efficiency, handling the flower adroitly yet carefully as though the stem could snap in two; as though the veins that ran through its petals could break under the slightest hint of pressure.
He swiftly moved between flowers, gently taking a few more flowers and showing them to you. Never once did his large, calloused fingers damage the gentle stems of the flowers, nor did he hurt a singular petal on any one of the flowers.
“Yellow carnations mean, ‘you’re such a disappointment,’ and orange mocks mean, ‘you’re a liar’,” he explained.
You nodded your head in confirmation, “thank you… I guess. I know it’s weird, to have to do this sort of thing. Flowers are supposed to be romantic, and… well...”
He laughed, shaking his head, “It’s nothing, I don’t mind,” the light drained from his eyes slightly as he looked at you, “I’m sorry, though. For what he did. You deserve better, to be honest.”
Adroit fingers gently set to tying the bouquet, arranging them in different places to create an explosion of pumpkin oranges and mellow yellows. Niveous wisps of white sprouted from sporadic places, creating a mixture of creams to split up the consistent pattern of jacinthe and flavescent colours that sprouted from vernal stems.
“It’s okay.” You breathed after what felt like an eternity of just watching him, watching his skilled hands sift through the petals ever so gently; those hands that were littered with nicks and bruises, callouses and cuts. So soft and gentle.
There was something so calming about the entire atmosphere of the flower shop; something that made you want to just sink into every nook and cranny; every crevice, to just savour the scents of the multitude of flowers that surrounded you. You understood why the cowlick-haired boy would come here repetitively, why he spent a large amount of time here.
Liquid chestnut eyes met your own eyes, the corners of his eyes crinkling up with yet another innocuous smile that was plastered upon his face as he outstretched his hands, gently placing the bouquet into your hands. It was tied together with a yellow ribbon that was shaped in a perfect bow. You managed to allow a small smile slip onto your face at the sight. It was time to put your ‘plan’ into action.
“How much does that cost?” you asked.
“Ah… think of it as a gift, from me to you. For being such a loyal customer,” he winked, and you rolled your eyes.
Yet there was a happiness in you that had filled the void of sadness that had seemed intent on devouring you whole for the entire week.
“Good luck, (Y/N)!” he called after you.
And it was only when you were halfway down the street that you noticed the small piece of card tucked in between the flowers. Carefully pulling it out, making sure not to harm the floral arrangement, you noticed the scrawl of neat handwriting. Neat handwriting that was loopy and professional, yet with a boyish charm that made it slant to the side.
I’m sorry about your boyfriend. If you ever want to talk about anything, just call me -
And underneath, there was his phone number.
The months seemed to pass, blending into one big compilation of memories that blurred themselves together in your mind. It was funny how quickly time passed, and how people could change along with the months and seasons that flew by.
People who once stole the spotlight in your life now were nothing more than people who worked behind the scenes; they’d helped you become the person you were today, the people who’d shaped your past. But they weren’t the ones to decide your future, to hold your hand and guide you towards the future that awaited you.
No.
That was your choice.
And so the months passed, and you found yourself a year on. A year since you’d broke up with your now ex-boyfriend. You stared at the ceiling, wrapped up in the bundle of sheets atop your bed, a smile hiding in your eyes and spread across your lips. It was weird to think that a year could change a person so much, really.
Just a soul year.
With a pleasant grace, you prepared yourself for the day ahead. A day that you’d planned in mind for quite some time now, but hadn’t fully yet figured out how it would go. You weren’t used to stuff like this, and you frowned at all the thoughts that taunted you; thoughts that everything would collide and crash.
This new person you were could easily crash and land gracelessly, abandoned; six feet under piles of rubble and debris so thick that nobody would hear your pleas for help. Your thoughts shifted to the boy who meant so much to you, and your fists clenched at the mere thought of losing him.
It was funny how much one person could shift a mood. You’d never really taken into account how much that could fully impact you - not until a year ago. A year ago. On that day when a revelation had been made so grand, that you hadn’t thought you’d ever be able to recover from the graceless blow that had caused your entire spirit to topple over.
Yet in that moment of weakness, and all those moments since, there had been an unlikely person to hold your hand throughout every ordeal. A person to protect the cracks in your armour and heal your wounds, a person whose words were like the softest of herbal remedies and whose scent always carried an air of indelible boyishness mixed with the slightest hint of flowers.
A person who’d heard every single word from your lips - the good and the bad, and yet still tolerated you. Still made time for you.
You stepped outside, allowing the warm breeze kiss you in greeting, and allowed your mind to guide you down the route that had become so deeply ingrained in your mind over the past year. Just a few streets from your own residence; you’d memorised this path before, but now, it had become like second nature to you. As common as the back of your own hand.
The bell signalling that a customer had entered the building chimed a melodic tune as you passed through the door, the scent of flowers hitting you full on as you maneuvered swiftly to the counter.
“Good mor- (Y/N)!” Oikawa chimed, a broad smile stretching across his face as you braced your forearms on the counter.
“Hello, Tooru!” you chirped, flashing him your own dazzling smile.
“How may I help you this fine morning, (Y/N)?” he inquired, “Or did you just want to stare at my beauty in the glow of the morning sun?”
He winked, a half smile settling onto his face as he did so, and ran a rough hand through his perky hair. Despite the fact that he’d been awake since the early hours of the morning most likely, he looked more refreshed than yourself, who’d managed to gain a full night of rest.
You snorted in amusement at his remark, “As much as you wish, that won’t actually happen. I’m here to get some flowers, if you may,”
Something unreadable and dull flashed in his eyes for a mere second, a frown crossing his face as though his smile was a mask that had just slipped. He quickly corrected his expression, almost so quickly it was as though it hadn’t ever possessed his face. Yet there were phantom shadows hiding in the corners of his usually cheerful dark eyes.
“Oh? Seeing someone special? Why didn’t you tell me, (Y/N)?”
“Mhm,” you confirmed, “I need some… white carnations. White carnations, and blue lilacs. And just a few pink camellias,” you requested, listing them cautiously and consulting your memory.
The memory of him teaching you the meanings of each flower he knew of. White carnations, representing admiration and pure love; innocence. Blue lilacs, happiness and tranquility. Pink camellias, longing - a longing to be with someone. His eyebrows rose as he calmly gathered the flowers, never once allowing his hands to stumble.
“So, who’s the lucky guy?” He smiled at long last, though the shadows were still in his eyes… was that a hint of jealousy flickering in his eyes? Taking the bunch of flowers from his hands, you shot him a brief smile.
“That’s for me to know, and you to find out. I’ll talk to you later!”
“Great,” he said, though his voice lacked the usual bounce it had, “let me know how it goes!”
“Oh, you’ll be the first one to know!” you said back, waving as you walked out the shop.
“Hello? Oikawa? Can you meet me after volleyball practice?”
“(Y/N), I tho-”
“Not yet,” you cut him off, already knowing how he’d end his sentence.
“Really? It’s already evening. I don’t want to get in the way of anythin-”
“Please, Tooru?”
A sigh on his end, one that was laced with guilt.
“Okay. We’re just clearing the gym, anyway. Where should we meet?”
“The park, down the road.”
“Okay.”
You clutched the flowers tightly behind your back, a small smile playing on your lips. Though every nerve in your body was practically bursting with anxious excitement, especially as you saw the distinct figure of Oikawa Tooru walking towards you.
Biting your lip, he met your gaze, the setting sun behind him giving his figure a golden outline; casting rich, whiskey colours onto his brown cowlicked hair.
“Hey, what’s this about? What happened to the-”
“Oikawa Tooru, I-I know we’ve only known each other for… what? A year. Okay, longer, probably. We met in our first year of high school so…” you trailed off, your tongue tying itself in knots as you stumbled over words that you’d tried so hard to prepare.
“I- I guess what I want to say is… you’ve meant a lot to me over this past year. Screw that, you’ve been the best person I know; my best friend. I can say anything to you, and you can say anything to me. If it weren’t for you, and your extensive knowledge of flowers, I don’t know where I’d be.
“Honestly, you’re such a special person - I admire you and your sweetness, every single part of you. I feel so happy - so peaceful around you, I don’t think I’ve ever felt so happy around a single person before. I know I’m not the best with words, hell, look at me now,” you shot him a wry grin, “but I guess what I’m trying to say is that I- I think I love you, Oikawa Tooru.”
Silently, you brandished the bouquet of flowers that you’d been hiding behind your back, offering them to him. And despite the darkening skies, the world seemed to lighten up as the smile spread across his face. Warmth and happiness that radiated from him, banishing the cool night’s air.
“Of course you-”
“Please, don’t be arrogan-”
He let out a laugh, one that echoed throughout your head and reverberated through your bones. A laugh that was potent in his relaxed figure, still clad in his volleyball jacket and pants. A laugh that was bubbly, blissful, settling in the atmosphere like a relaxing melody. A melody that you never wanted to end.
“I’m joking, (Y/N),” he said, once his laughter had died down to a mere husk that was heard in his voice.
He rested a calloused hand, rouged from the game of volleyball he’d been playing earlier, on your shoulder with such gentleness. As though you were a flower he was tending to; one that he didn’t want to risk bruising in the slightest. He leant closer to you, the warmth of his breath brushing against the planes of your face.
“I love you too, (Y/N),” he declared.