Work Text:
Kageyama is leaving his office building, halfway through the front door, when he realises.
Tomorrow is his sister’s birthday.
And it’s currently 6pm.
He stares down at his phone, which he had just taken out to see why it vibrated – just a low battery alert – and wills the little bunch of numbers at the top of the screen to be wrong. That it’s a day earlier. Even just an hour earlier.
He’d gotten so wrapped up in writing his new piece that he’d completely lost track of time. Normally, this isn’t a problem – his social calendar has never been full. But for once there’s a date that he was really supposed to remember and he just didn’t.
“Excuse me?”
Kageyama jolts at the sound of a woman’s voice before muttering an apology and moving out of the way of the door. Raking a hand through his hair irritably, he pockets his phone and wracks his brain for a solution.
The thing is, he doesn’t even know what he’d get Miwa even if he had a week to buy something. They’ve both been so busy the last couple of years that their contact has been reduced to the rare phone call and even rarer family gathering. Which is fine, most days. Siblings grow apart, and they haven’t been close since he was small.
Miwa always did feel a little too far out of reach.
Sighing, Kageyama drags a hand down his face and stares sightlessly down the street. There’s no point standing around lamenting the chasm that sits between himself and his sister – it’s certainly not getting him any closer to a solution to the current problem.
Refocusing on what’s in front of him, Kageyama gnaws at his lip as he thinks.
His office building is located on a long street full of businesses and there’s a chance that one of them could still be open. Not all of them are shops, but if he’s lucky…
Resolute, Kageyama sets off down the street.
He likely only has just enough time to make it to Miwa’s after work tomorrow before she inevitably leaves in the evening, and the chances of him finding something suitable in the train station are incredibly low. If he’s going to find anything at all, it has to be now.
He ignores the first few businesses – he walks down this half of the street every day to and from the station and is familiar with the buildings. Most of them aren’t shops and the ones that are don’t carry anything that Miwa would like. Striding along with purpose, he only starts to slow down once the turning to the station looms.
He’s never actually walked past the turning before. It’s a bit of a long shot – placing all his hopes on the row of businesses that line the unfamiliar part of the street. There could be nothing there at all, and he’ll still be left with no present and frustration to boot.
Mentally crossing his fingers, Kageyama picks up the pace, dodging neatly around the growing crowd of people all heading for the station, eager to get home.
The first building is a small newsagents – useless, even if it was open – but then the next one makes Kageyama stop dead.
It’s a florist.
It’s a little hidden, tucked in between a bustling news stand and a much larger building that specialises in upholstery, but somehow it manages to be charming and inviting, with buckets of flowers outside and an awning striped in various shades of green.
Hope floods Kageyama. Everyone likes flowers. And there’s something a little more personal about a handmade bouquet than a material gift bought in haste at the last minute.
Relieved, Kageyama bustles towards the shop, darting around the people streaming down the street, and stops in front of the door, peering at the opening times written across it frantically.
He allows himself a little fist pump when he sees that they’re open – for another whole hour to boot.
A bell above the door tinkles when he pushes it open and Kageyama steps inside with wide eyes.
Despite the modest exterior, the shop inside is anything but. Baskets of flowers line both walls, with buckets in the middle with more stems, as well as displays with everything from seeds to gardening equipment to house plants. There’s hardly any floor space, the shop is so busy, and Kageyama rather feels like he’s walked into a greenhouse rather than a shop.
Feeling a little overwhelmed, Kageyama shuffles forwards, careful with his movements in case he accidentally knocks something over – or spills soil onto his work suit. He keeps peering around the plants and displays, hoping to find some sort of assistant or employee, but it seems like he’s the only person here.
Huffing, he finally makes it to the other end of the shop, where a counter springs up in amongst all the greenery and colour. There’s a till to the side, along with a stack of what look like photo albums, but other than that it’s deserted.
Kageyama frowns. Maybe he’d read the opening times wrong? It would be just his luck that the shop is actually closed and the owners had forgotten to lock up or something.
“Hello?” he calls, eyes scanning around the room for any signs of life.
Well. Sentient life that is.
No answer.
Kageyama clucks his tongue and folds his arms and frowns harder. He just wants to buy some flowers, is that so hard? “Hello?” he calls again, louder this time.
Once more, silence greets him, and he’s just about to throw his hands up in the air in aggravation and attempt to storm out when there’s a muffled noise from the back of the shop.
Against the back wall is a curtain over a doorway – presumably cutting off the shop from a back room. Kageyama tilts his head, intrigued, and raises an eyebrow when more muffled noises echo from behind the curtain. There’s another sound, like a crash, and a quiet shout, and then the curtain is suddenly being thrown aside.
Kageyama blinks, slightly startled, at the spot of sunshine that has suddenly appeared in the little doorway.
It’s a young man, about his own age, kind of short but stocky, wearing a bright blue apron with a yellow and brown flower applique stitched on its pocket. It would be an eye-catching choice, if it weren’t for the even brighter shock of orange hair on his head.
Kageyama blinks again. His eyes hurt a little bit, like he’s been staring at the sun for too long.
“Hi there! Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in,” the man says, smiling wide. Kageyama’s eyes hurt a little more – how is it possible for a human being to be so sunny? “Can I help you?”
“Err… yes,” Kageyama clears his throat, trying to force his brain back on track. It’s been a long day. “I need some flowers for my sister.”
The shop clerk bobs his head, his cheerful smile fading slightly into a thoughtful expression. Kageyama glances down at the nametag on his chest – Hinata. How appropriate, he thinks vaguely.
“What kind of thing are you looking for?” The man – Hinata – prompts, stepping nearer. He’s even brighter up close.
“What do you mean?” Kageyama frowns. Flowers are flowers, right?
“Well… are you looking for a bouquet? Something to display? Or something she can take care of herself, like a singular flower or house plant?”
Kageyama frowns harder with all the sudden options. “It’s her birthday tomorrow,” he says, in hopes that this will be enough elaboration.
“Ah! Alright… well, what’s her favourite colour?” Hinata asks, and he starts to pick his way across the shop to one wall of flowers, filled with blooms of every colour of the rainbow.
Kageyama stops dead just as he’s starting to follow.
What is Miwa’s favourite colour? He has absolutely no idea. He hasn’t lived with her for over a decade and there’s no particular colour that he can pick out that she wears more often on the rare occasion that he does see her. Shifting from foot to foot, he tries to swallow his embarrassment. Is this something that he’s just supposed to know?
“What about a flower that she likes?” Hinata suggests, seemingly detecting his hesitance and smoothly moving past it. Kageyama feels a wash of gratitude.
“Flower?” he mutters, finally making his way to stand next to Hinata. His eyes scan the baskets upon baskets of flowers on the wall, lips pursed. He doesn’t know Miwa’s favourite flower either. Do people even have favourite flowers?
“Does she like small pretty ones? Or big classic flowers, like roses?” Hinata prompts. “It’s okay if you don’t know the names, I’m terrible with the names too. You can just point at them.”
Kageyama looks around the flower baskets hopelessly. He doesn’t think that Miwa is the sort of person for big, extravagant flowers – she’s always seemed to prefer things that are classy and understated. He squints at the label of one basket with tiny, white flowers inside, trying to read it.
“That one…?” he asks, pointing. It’s a little bland for a bouquet, but they’re pretty all in a bunch, he supposes.
“Oh! Those are popular!” Hinata enthuses, and Kageyama feels himself relax a little bit.
Shuffling closer, Hinata squints at the label himself. “’Baby’s breath’… that’s right, I knew it was something weird.”
Kageyama stares down at the orange head now practically right under his nose. “Aren’t you supposed to know the names?”
“Probably!” Hinata says cheerfully, sounding completely unbothered. “But there’s so many.”
Kageyama goes to protest this, but then two small, yet sturdy, hands are gently gripping his upper arms and steering him out of the way. He moves obediently – more out of shock than anything else – and he feels an unexpected flush sweep through him when Hinata presses himself close to squeeze by. The florist may be short, but he’s not small under that deceptive apron.
“Isn’t it your job to know the names?” Kageyama grouses, mostly to cover up his sudden embarrassment. He feels ridiculous. A scowl crumples his features.
“Ehh…” Hinata shrugs as he leans forward on tiptoe to reach the basket of baby’s breath, grabbing it with secure hands. “Maybe. But I think the colours and the arrangement are more important than the names, you know? And they’ve all got too many letters…”
Kageyama boggles at this. “You don’t know any?”
“Sure I do!” Hinata says, picking his way back over to the counter with the basket of flowers safe in his grip. He adjusts his hold to free one hand and points at a swath of baskets by Kageyama’s feet. “Those are roses.”
Kageyama rolls his eyes. Even he knows that the elegant blooms are roses.
“Now. Do you want any others or just a bouquet of these?” Hinata asks, resting the basket of baby’s breath on the counter.
“Uhh…” Kageyama sweeps his gaze back over the wall flowers, feeling a little overwhelmed all over again. How’s he supposed to know? He knows even less about flowers than Hinata does – which is saying something, because Hinata doesn’t seem to know much at all.
After a long, drawn out moment of silence, Hinata’s voice calls out again. “Here, why don’t you look at the catalogue if you have no idea?”
Kageyama glares at him as he makes his way over. “You’re one to talk, you don’t even know their names,” he shoots back, glancing down at the folder that Hinata has laid open on the counter. It’s filled with laminated pages, each displaying photos of different bouquets. Hinata seems to have turned to the right page in advance, as most of them contain baby’s breath.
“I did at one point. But I made all the bouquets in these photos! So I can do something right.”
Kageyama hums under his breath, scanning the pages. He sort of hates to admit it, but Hinata does have a point. The displays in the images are all elegant and beautiful. Hinata may not possess a memory, but he does seem to have an eye for design, at least.
Kageyama hovers over one that contains pretty periwinkle blue flowers and taps at it after a moment. He’s seen Miwa wear blue plenty of times before, so he’s fairly certain that she likes it. “This one,” he decides. “This is nice.”
Hinata lets out an approving noise and when he flicks his eyes up to Kageyama, he has the audacity to wink at him.
Kageyama feels heat flare in his cheeks and has a sudden urge to dunk his head in one of the many water buckets.
“Nice choice!” Hinata says smoothly. “Do you want me to make it for collection or delivery?”
“Delivery?” Kageyama repeats, his voice croaky. His cheeks burn harder as he clears his throat. “You deliver?” he tries again.
Hinata nods, either not noticing the slip or choosing not to address it. “Yep! I can either have it ready for you to collect tomorrow or I can deliver them on a day of your choice – we have a van.”
Kageyama perks up hopefully. He might not have time to catch Miwa tomorrow after work and this way she’ll get her flowers earlier in the day. “Can you deliver tomorrow?”
A little crease appears between Hinata’s eyebrows. “Tomorrow? Should be able to, but let me check the diary…” he tapers off and bends, rooting around under the desk. With a soft noise of triumph he emerges, a little black book in his hands. Flipping it open, he leafs through the pages, scanning the one that he stops at.
“Sure! There’s space tomorrow!”
Kageyama sags a little in relief. “Great, how much do I owe you?”
Hinata gives him his total and moves the credit card machine towards him as he reaches for yet another book, flipping it open. “I just need to you to fill out your name and sign here,” he says, after he scribbles something down on a line on the page.
Kageyama glances at it as he takes the card receipt Hinata slides towards him. It appears to be an order book. Grabbing the pen laid out next to it, he scribbles down his name and signs as requested before pushing the book back towards Hinata, pocketing his wallet.
“Perfect! That’s everything then. Thank you for your business, Mr…” - Hinata glances down at the book - “Kageyama!”
Kageyama feels another tingle trickle down his spine and he shifts in place, hating how awkward he feels. His name doesn’t sound right, sung out so cheerfully from such a… sunshine-y person. “Thank you for your help,” he forces out stiffly, inclining his head and turning to head out of the shop.
“Come back soon!” Hinata calls out after him over the sound of the bell tinkling over the shop door.
Kageyama frowns a little at this. Why would he? Raising a hand in acknowledgement, he lets the door swing closed, blocking out the sun within. Shaking himself, he slips his hands into his pockets and heads towards the train station for home.
It wasn’t an entirely unpleasant experience, but he’s unlikely to be back.
He doesn’t normally need flowers after all.
The next day, he receives a text from Miwa containing a photo of the bouquet.
It’s elegant and refined – much like his sister – mostly a spray of white, miniature blossoms interspersed with larger, more extravagant blooms in gentle blues.
A message follows, longer than usual, thanking him for the flowers and praising his choices. Kageyama feels a small smile tug at the corner of his mouth, privately extremely pleased that she liked the flowers so much. He’d been worrying ever since he left the florist that it hadn’t been enough.
Pocketing his phone, he turns back to his work and sends a little mental thought of thanks to the florist who can at least arrange flowers well, even if he can’t name any of them.
Two weeks later, he receives another message from Miwa. This one is shorter, more to the point, in her usual style. She’s been promoted to head of a stylist team and her first photoshoot is in another two weeks. Kageyama taps his thumbs against the screen after replying with a brief ‘congratulations,’ wondering what else to say.
He knows that Miwa doesn’t expect much. She’s simply informing him, in the same way that he informs her when one of his pieces makes into a sports magazine. Keeping each other in the loop, nothing more.
But Kageyama does want it to be more, just a little bit. He hates feeling inadequate in any capacity and this is one area where he always feels like he’s just missing the mark.
Frowning down at his phone, he scrolls through the chat log idly, looking back at previous messages, trying to decide whether he should say more based on previous experiences. But they’re all the same. He puffs out a harsh sigh, frustrated.
And then he pauses, his thumb hovering over a message from only a fortnight ago.
The photo of the bouquet that he’d sent her for her birthday.
A little bulb goes off above his head.
Sending flowers to congratulate is a thing. Plenty of his colleagues get flowers if their piece gets published as a feature in a prominent publication.
Inspired, he makes a note to make another visit to the station-side florist after work.
As before, the shop is barren of any actual people when he enters, the tinkle of the bell above the only noise in the lonely shop. Kageyama briefly wonders how Hinata manages to make any money if he’s never around.
“Hello?” he calls loudly, keeping his eye on the curtain at the back, expecting it to twitch aside and reveal the sunny florist.
“Hi!”
Kageyama swears and jumps a foot in the air before whirling around madly.
Hinata blinks, standing right beside him, having just popped his head around a stack of crates with countless succulents on them, arranged in an artful display. Kageyama vaguely wonders how he missed him, considering Hinata’s general… brightness, but he rationalises that his shop is ridiculously crowded with plant life.
“Hey, it’s you again!” Hinata says, the confusion on his face wiping clear in favour of that sunny smile.
Kageyama’s stomach flips against his will. He’s used to spending his days in front of a computer screen surrounded by equally hard working, non-talkative people during the day, and at the gym by himself during the evenings. He is not used to dealing people quite so cheerful, or this friendly.
“You’re the grumpy guy who bought flowers for his sister! Kageyama!” Hinata continues. He looks far too pleased with himself.
“I… yes… wait what’s that supposed to mean?” Kageyama grouses, finally catching on to the first part of that sentence.
“Did she like them?” Hinata asks instead, planting his hands on his hips and peering up at Kageyama. He almost looks coy. “She did, didn’t she?”
“Your customer service is terrible,” Kageyama marvels, feeling a frown pull at his brow. “I bet you still don’t know any flower names either.”
“Well, you’re back. So I can’t be that bad,” Hinata laughs. “And of course I do!” - he points a bucket full of small yellow flowers - “Those are daisies. Maybe. Actually they might be another flower that look like daisies but they're not. False... daisies? Something like that.”
Kageyama rolls his eyes. “Are you going to make another bouquet for me or not?” he demands, cutting off the babble and getting right to the heart of the matter. Hinata clearly knows why he’s here anyway, he might as well get to it.
“Oh, I suppose,” Hinata sighs, but his eyes twinkle merrily. “Another birthday?”
“No. Promotion,” Kageyama replies, stepping around planters to follow Hinata as he starts to meander deeper into the shop.
“For your sister again? You’re a good brother,” Hinata says, but he manages to sound genuine. “Do you want to pick some flowers again or look at the book?”
Kageyama eyes the wall of flowers. Despite Miwa’s praises, he doesn’t really know what else she likes, and it had been hard enough picking something the first time. “The book,” he decides after a moment.
“Sure!”
Kageyama manages to make his way through the maze of plants until he meets Hinata at the counter, where the florist is already pawing through the pages of one of the albums.
“What about something like this?” Hinata suggests, turning the book around so that Kageyama can see. The pages that he’s opened to are full of photos of bouquets that all seem to feature one flower prominently – round, cheerful blooms with many tiny little petals, in a variety of different colours.
“They’re nice,” Kageyama offers. “What are they?”
He’s half asking in genuine curiosity and half to see if Hinata actually knows.
“No idea. It begins with C and is too long to pronounce,” Hinata says without hesitation. “But they’re popular and come in lots of colours! Do you want blue again, or something else?”
Kageyama can’t help the little snort that bursts out of him at Hinata’s blithe attitude. It should be annoying, but there’s something a little funny about Hinata giving up learning flower names because they’re too long.
He scans the photos before him and considers. The blue is nice, but the warmer ones also look good. Sighing, he shrugs, feeling a headache build between his ears. He’s still spoilt for choice.
“What do you suggest?” he asks eventually, trying not to sound too sulky.
“Maybe something brighter, because it’s a happy occasion,” Hinata says, after a moment’s thought. He points at the bouquets with flowers filled with cheerful colours, all soft pinks and warm oranges. “These are in season too, so they’ll be big and bright!”
Kageyama hums. It’s as good as any bunch of flowers, he supposes, and it’s not like he has any ideas himself. “This one then,” he decides, tapping on a picture with mostly orange blooms.
He tries not to think about why the colour is inspiring.
Hinata beams, pleased, and starts rattling off his total as he reaches for his order book.
Kageyama feels himself flush again and bends his head to hide it as he signs the book once more, confirming to the pages below that yes, he would like delivery again when Hinata asks.
The next day, his phone beeps just as he’s leaving work with another message from Miwa, expressing her surprise and delight. Kageyama tingles happily as he re-reads the message on the train ride home, pleased.
It feels good to do something like this, and if it means that he gets to break up his monotonous life with the odd visit to the strange little flower shop, then that can only be a bonus.
Which is why he finds himself back there two weeks later, already with a reason in mind. He knows that Miwa’s project wraps today, and he knows that sending flowers to congratulate someone on a big job completed is also a thing people do.
He thinks. He’s fairly sure anyway. Hinata will probably tell him if he’s gotten it wrong, he seems that way inclined.
Once again, the shop seems deserted when he enters, until he finds Hinata crouching behind the counter. After a taking a brief moment to delight in being the one to surprise him for a change, Kageyama once again demands another bouquet and Hinata grins, reaching for his albums.
“My sister wishes she got as many flowers as yours does,” Hinata comments as Kageyama peruses the pages before him.
Kageyama flicks his eyes up. “You’re a florist.”
“Exactly,” Hinata grins, and Kageyama’s chest tightens unpleasantly. (Or is that pleasantly? He can’t quite be sure.)
“What about something with daffodils?” Hinata suggests after a while, as Kageyama continues to scan the pages fruitlessly and breathe through the constriction in his chest.
“Wow, a flower you can actually name,” Kageyama comments sardonically.
“I aim to impress,” Hinata replies easily, flipping through the pages in the album until he lands on a spread with bunches of bright spring flowers in golden yellows and crisp whites.
Kageyama nods approvingly. They’re sunny and cheery and they remind him of Hinata’s apron.
Following routine, he pays, arranges delivery, and then leaves the shop with a little bit more of a spring in his step than he had before.
But, not following routine, the message he receives from Miwa the next day isn’t as pleasing.
She’s appreciative enough – obligingly attaching a photo of the bouquet (beautiful as always) and thanking him, making sure to mention that the flowers are lovely. But then she adds how strange he’s being – sending her flowers every couple of weeks for every occasion that happens in her life.
Kageyama knows that she’s teasing, somewhere deep down, but he keeps staring at the end of the message, where she makes comment that he’s a little obsessed with sending flowers now he’s discovered how to do it.
Does this mean she doesn’t want them anymore? It seems so. Maybe it was flattering at first but now the shine has worn off. She probably thinks that he’s glad to have found a reason not to actually talk to her.
Which isn’t true.
So Kageyama sulks and mulls it over until his head hurts, until eventually he shoves his phone away and tries not to think of anything to do with flowers at all.
Two weeks roll by with Kageyama doing his best not to think of flowers.
But the more he tries not to think about them, the more he can’t help seeing them.
In shop windows, in grassy banks lining the street, in advertisements… they’re everywhere. They plague him wherever he goes and before he knows it, it’s been a fortnight since he’d last been to the florist. And perhaps his subconscious brain just couldn’t help matching it all together, but by the end of the work day his feet are moving to the flower shop against his will.
He forces himself to stop at the train station.
He doesn’t need any flowers. Miwa certainly doesn’t seem to enjoy them as much anymore. He has no reason to go.
But still, he wants to. It doesn’t feel right, getting on a train and going home without making what has become his regular visit.
Kageyama flexes his hands in and out of fists.
Maybe he doesn’t need flowers, but the florist sells more than just bouquets.
A beat of hesitation, and then his feet are moving once again.
The bell above the florist door tinkles above his head, and he sort of hates how familiar a sound it is now.
For once, Hinata isn’t hiding out the back or behind a stack of plant life. He’s at the counter, scribbling something down in one of his order books. Despite the jingle of the bell, he doesn’t seem to have noticed Kageyama’s arrival, his face creased into a rare frown as he stares down at his book thoughtfully.
Kageyama shuffles closer, trying not to trip over anything. He’d look down, but Hinata’s bright hair is enough of a beacon that he finds himself unable to. Cautiously, he clears his throat, hoping that he sounds sufficiently casual.
Hinata looks up and does a double take when he realises who has come into his shop. Kageyama does his best not to fidget.
“Hi!” Hinata says, the concentration in his face melting into a smile immediately. Kageyama’s stomach flips against his will. He doesn’t think that he’ll ever get used to the sensation.
“Here for another bouquet? What’s today’s occasion?”
Kageyama bites on his lip just hard enough for it to hurt. He thinks back to Miwa’s message, and the embarrassed sting in his chest hits him all over again. “I’m not after a bouquet,” he says slowly, hoping that the sulk isn’t audible in his voice. “I’m here for, uhh…”
He pauses. He’s suddenly very aware that he hasn’t actually come up with an excuse for coming here. And saying ‘I would miss your stupid face if I didn’t visit’ sounds so humiliating that he would rather simply walk out of the shop without another word than attempt to voice it.
He looks around, hoping that he doesn’t look too strange. “I’m here for a… houseplant,” he declares, a little lamely, as his gaze falls upon a display of them on his right.
Hinata raises a disbelieving eyebrow. “You want a houseplant?” he repeats, and Kageyama could kick him for the suspicion in his voice.
“It’s for my sister,” Kageyama elaborates, spinning lies as quickly as he can think of them. “She, umm… wanted something different.” The untrue words fade as fast as he comes up with them. He’s never been good at lying. “She liked the flowers!” he adds, when Hinata raises his other eyebrow. “She just… didn’t seem as keen on the last bunch.”
That last part is true, he rationalises. He doesn’t even know if whatever he buys today he’ll even send to her. He just… he just wanted to come to the flower shop.
Hinata rubs his chin thoughtfully, rounding the counter. “Well, my bouquets are flawless,” he says simply, as if stating the obvious, “so maybe she’s just not used to receiving flowers from her baby brother every two weeks?”
Kageyama nearly falls into a display of seeds at the accuracy of the suggestion. “How did… how did you…” he mutters under his breath, baffled and blindsided. He clears his throat and attempts to school his face. “How did you know she’s older?” he settles on asking, deciding that's the safest thing to address. He’s fairly certain that he’s never mentioned it before.
“I had a hunch,” Hinata smiles ruefully. “You get to know these things selling flowers.”
Kageyama tilts his head, finding himself suddenly curious. “How so?”
Hinata rests his palms on the counter behind him and leans back. “People don’t often buy flowers for themselves,” he explains. “They’re nearly always for another person. And they’re for all sorts of reasons and occasions, but they’re nearly always to send a message. Happy birthday, congratulations, I love you… things like that. I’ve sold a lot of flowers, and I’ve seen a lot of messages. And if people send a lot of flowers to the same person? They really want that message to come across.”
Swallowing, Kageyama lets his gaze drop, staring sightlessly at the packets of seeds by his elbow. What message was he trying to send? He just wanted a birthday present. But then there was the promotion, and the little bit of excitement that he felt when Miwa seemed happy with every bunch of flowers that arrived.
Most days, it felt too hard to call her, or even send a message. Most of their conversations are ones that Miwa initiates. It seemed so easy to just send a bunch of flowers instead, let her know that he knew about the goings on in her life, that he does care, it's just… hard to speak, sometimes.
But even if he could speak, what would he say?
“I don’t have anything to tell her,” he says slowly, more out of realisation than in reply to what Hinata had just said.
Because he doesn’t. Nothing that he thinks Miwa doesn’t already know. He feels hopelessly awkward, trying to express these things, let alone trying to do so when it feels he’s repeating himself.
“Well…” Hinata says, pushing off from the counter and stepping closer. “Maybe that’s the problem.”
Kageyama lifts his gaze from the seed packets and looks at Hinata, silent and curious.
Hinata smiles at him, and it’s a different sort of smile. Not as cheeky, or as bright, but somehow just as sunny. “Sending flowers is nice, but maybe you just need to pick up the phone?”
“And say what?”
Hinata shrugs. “Anything you like. It doesn’t have to be important. Maybe you had a really nice lunch last week. The first step to talking is actually talking, you know?”
Kageyama frowns. It sounds so simple and yet also impossibly hard. But then again, he can’t keep sending flowers, especially without a reason, so maybe…
“I’ll think about it,” he says quietly, even as scenarios start to pop in his mind.
When he was small, it was so easy to burst into Miwa’s room and ask her whatever he wanted. Even when she was dismissive she was never really mean.
Perhaps this would be the same.
“Don’t worry so much!”
Kageyama jumps - Hinata is suddenly right in front of him, patting his arm. He feels his heart rate skyrocket against his will.
“You don’t have any problem talking to me, do you? It’s just your sister, you’ll be fine.”
Kageyama hums vaguely, feeling a little too much like a deer caught in the headlights for his comfort. Because he does find it easy to talk to Hinata, for whatever reason. Maybe it’s his easy going nature, but he gets the feeling that he could say almost anything and Hinata wouldn’t bat an eyelash. He stares down at the hand on his arm and feels his heart skip for another reason.
He came here to see Hinata, and instead of finding a reason to keep up his visits, he’s gotten advice to stop them.
It’s good advice. And in the back of his mind somewhere, he knows that it’s something that he needed to hear, that it’s something good to hear. Hinata’s words are reassuring, but… he doesn’t want to stop coming to the flower shop.
“But if you want to send her flowers again…” Hinata speaks up, commanding Kageyama’s attention once more, “I’m not going to stop you.”
He winks, and Kageyama feels heat flood through him in a wave.
“Maybe next time?” he croaks out, speaking before he can think.
Maybe he can come back. Maybe he really will buy a houseplant, or some of those damn seeds, or one of those cacti things that are impossible to kill.
“Sure,” Hinata replies easily, smiling bright once more. “I’ll be here for any flower related expertise you may need.”
Kageyama snorts. “You don’t even know any of their names.”
“Sure I do!” Hinata says, stepping back and heading to his counter again. He points at a basket of delicate looking blue flowers on the wall as he passes. “That one is forget-me-not.”
Kageyama looks at the tiny, innocent looking petals and feels something twinge. “Thank you,” he murmurs, not entirely sure what he’s thanking Hinata for. A lot of things maybe.
Hinata looks up at him from around the back of the counter, leaning over his order book again, his smile gentle. “You’re welcome.”
It had taken a couple of days before Kageyama summoned the courage to make the call.
But within minutes of jamming his thumb down on Miwa’s contact, some of the tension had leaked from his shoulders.
Miwa had been surprised to get a call from him out of the blue, her voice immediately expressing concern. Kageyama’s chest had tightened, just a little bit, before he finally forced himself to speak.
“I thought you were getting tired of the flowers.”
Miwa had sighed then, soft and fond, and gently asked him why he was really calling.
Kageyama didn’t really know. So he told her about the lunch that he had last week – ordered from a restaurant on a whim – that had been remarkably good. It’s a nonsensical, pointless anecdote, and the temptation to just hang up and pretend that he never made the call had been strong.
But Miwa had paused, before easing into it, asking him more questions and filling the gaps.
And for the first time in far too many years, the call ended with a date in the diary to meet up outside of an obligatory family gathering. At the restaurant that he had ordered lunch from with a menu Kageyama found himself wanting to share.
Kageyama pockets his phone, feeling more satisfied than he ever did seeing Miwa’s messages in response to a bouquet arriving at her door.
Speaking of flowers, this time he doesn’t wait two weeks before making the trip down the street to the florist.
The day after, the familiar bell tinkles above his head.
And for once, there is someone else in the shop.
An elderly lady is accepting a bouquet of flowers, freshly wrapped, that Hinata hands her. She slides some money across the counter and says some words that Kageyama cannot catch from his position by the door.
He hovers, feeling awkward and unsure, as the transaction wraps up, and then clumsily shuffles around the abundance of plants to get out of the way so that the old lady can leave. She manages to do so without a single falter in her step. He wonders how that’s possible – there’s more plant life in here than in a jungle.
“Need some flowers?”
Kageyama jolts at the sound of Hinata’s voice over the tinkle of the bell as the old lady leaves.
“Well,” he starts. Licks his lips. Starts again. “I never did get that house plant.”
Hinata tilts his head at him, looking thoughtful. Kageyama kind of hates it; he misses the smile.
“Tell you what,” Hinata says eventually, fixing Kageyama with a look that he cannot decipher. “Are you free on Saturday?”
Kageyama blinks, completely thrown. “I… yes?” he replies, confusion filling him. Saturday? Does something happen at the florist on Saturdays?
“Cool,” Hinata says casually, rummaging around behind the counter. He emerges with a slip of paper, headed with the shop’s details, and scribbles something on it. Then he walks around the counter, manoeuvring around the plant life that clutters his shop with ease, until he’s in front of Kageyama.
Then he slips the piece of paper into Kageyama’s pocket and gives it a little pat. “Meet me there. 10am, okay?”
Kageyama glances down at his pocket, still baffled. “Meet you?”
Hinata grins at him - warm and sunny - and then, without warning, rises up onto his toes.
There’s a press of lips against his cheek, and Kageyama rather feels like he’s burning.
Hinata winks at him as he drops back down to his feet, dancing around the buckets of flowers and shrubbery displays, and heading towards the curtain at the back of the shop before Kageyama can say a word.
“Don’t be late!” Hinata calls, pointing at Kageyama sternly, and then he disappears into the depths of his shop.
Kageyama stands there, barely daring to breathe and slowly raises his fingertips to his cheek.
And then, very slowly, a smile blooms across his face, widening and growing until he feels like one of the flowers surrounding him that neither of them can name.
At 10am that Saturday, Kageyama steps off of the bus at the stop that Hinata had written on the slip of paper, and stares around him in a sort of muted awe.
He wanders forward, towards what he assumes is the general entrance, judging by the small number of people that stroll to and fro there, and wonders how he never knew that this place existed.
“Cool, huh?”
A hand slips into his, and Kageyama nearly jumps, but a gentle squeeze on his hand stops him.
Hinata beams at him happily by his side, somehow just as sunny even without his brightly coloured apron. “Aren’t they huge?”
Kageyama hums, lost for words. He glances down at the small hand in his and feels like all of his insides jumble over themselves. It’s an impossibly nice feeling. The corners of his mouth twitch upwards before he realises it.
The field that the bus stops off at is more a tourist attraction than anything else, but it certainly is impressive – with towering yellow and brown flowers spread out before him, as far as the eye can see.
“I love sunflowers, they’re my favourite,” Hinata says, tugging at Kageyama’s hand gently until he’s encouraged to follow him. “You can even buy seeds here! Grow your own. You did say you wanted a house plant.”
“I don’t think my house is big enough,” Kageyama says mildly as they enter the sunflower field.
There’s a path that snakes between the flowers, the ground pounded flat by countless feet, with sunflowers taller than them both either side.
“I didn’t know they could grow this big.”
“Give them plenty of space, and good soil, and lots of sunshine, and you’d be surprised just how tall a sunflower can grow,” Hinata replies, his smile secretive.
Kageyama looks at him, a man made of sunshine surrounded by flowers of the same name, and thinks that he isn’t that surprised at all. “I’m surprised you know their name,” he says instead, falling into familiar territory.
Hinata rolls his eyes good naturedly. “I still know like, ten more flowers than you do.”
Kageyama snorts, but then his huff of laughter is cut short by a cloud of orange filling his vision.
Hinata kisses him – short and quick – before darting away, down the path of flowers.
“Come on! I want to buy some seeds before they run out, they sell the best ones here…”
Kageyama wobbles, feeling a little like he has sunstroke, before he manages to steel his knees and follow, the sunflowers waving gently in the breeze either side of him.
This will certainly be a story to tell Miwa over lunch.