Work Text:
The incessant buzzing of Hajime’s phone wakes him from his much-needed, and even more deserved, 5:32 P.M. nap. He slaps his hand around his desk in an attempt to find the device, keeping his eyes perfectly tucked in the crook of his elbow for just another minute’s rest. Finally, he finds his phone, only to see the worst-case scenario possible. He wasn’t woken up by his alarm.
Daichi was calling him.
He grunts just before accepting the call, refraining from any attempt to hide the exhaustion in his voice.
“What is it, Sawamura?”
Daichi’s signature boisterous laugh echoes from the phone. “Good morning, sunshine. Or should I say, good evening?”
“Neither. Especially after getting only a half-hour nap in.” Hajime leans back in his desk chair, running his hand down his face to wipe away any of the excess sleep from his eyes. He stares at the stained ceiling of his office. Surely, the university can scrounge up some money to repair the mildew damage in the history wing. This is getting close to “health code violation” much quicker than Iwaizumi would like. “What do you want, Dai? Do you need me to drop something off at your place?”
“No thanks, especially because I doubt you would be leaving the office at an acceptable hour anyways if not for this meeting tonight.”
“The what?” Hajime reaches for his planner across this desk. It took a while to find it underneath the dozens of midterm papers he has yet to grade. “Oh fuck, really, Dai? No one else volunteered?”
“You’re the fresh meat, Iwa. Of course, the department is going to insist on sending you to meet with the newest vendor. At least you don’t have to attend the stewardship event with the donors tomorrow. I swear, if one more old crone tries to set me up with his daughter, I’m going to quit.”
Hajime laughs as he packs up his work bag, stuffing the remaining 20 midterm papers inside to take home. “I thought you liked it when the old broads stared at your ass and thighs in your ‘nice slacks’.”
That seemed to make Daichi choke on a laugh. “Only if you admit you like it when the donors constantly touch your arms or chest as they so politely listen to you talk about your nerdy research.”
“Oi, learning about Japanese cultural dynamics through traditional folklore and mythology is interesting to people!”
“Not when they find out that it stems from your lifelong obsession with Godzilla, Iwa.”
“It’s not an obsession! Just an appreciation of high art.” He finally makes it out of the decrepit building and to his car. The more he walks, the harder the exhaustion is hitting him. Hajime will be the first to admit that he is overworked and underpaid, but that comes with the status of “newest full-time assistant professor in the most underpaid department on campus.” It’s a title he holds with pride.
Well, he did until the head of the History Department looped him into joining the stewardship event planning committee, something Hajime still remains confused about. He’s never been considered the most...approachable person. Daichi likes to say that Hajime has the most intimidating “resting bitch face” he’s ever seen, whatever that means. Just because supposedly looks like “Inigo Montoya from that one scene in the Princess Bride” (Daichi’s words, not his), doesn’t mean he isn’t nice to talk to.
But honestly, maybe his R.B.F. has come in handy up until this point. With lectures, grading, and dealing with Daichi’s attempts to get him to go on dates, this damn committee is just the icing on the cake. He slumps into the driver’s seat, wanting nothing more than to just grow roots and not have to drive to this damn consultation.
“Yo, Earth to Iwa, you there, pal?” Daichi called out.
“Yeah, yeah I’m good. I’m here. Now, what do you want with me, Dai? I know you didn’t just call me to remind me of this dumb appointment.”
“And who’s to say I didn’t?”
Hajime stops at a red light. He’s apparently ten minutes away from the flower shop, but parking is about to be a bitch. Plus the added traffic…
“Scully’s is having happy hour tonight, and I was thinking…”
“No.”
“You didn’t even let me finish!”
Hajime turns a corner, half paying attention to Daichi so he can try to find a suitable parking spot. “I didn’t need to get drunk at another dingy bar, Dai. I know this is another dumbass attempt to fix me up with someone from your department.”
“It’s not dumb! Akaashi is a really nice guy, he would be good for you.”
“He’s an accounting professor, Daichi. I don’t need that kind of internalized frustration and self-loathing in my life.”
“Oi, don’t be a dick. Not all business professors are assholes. Look at me, we’ve been friends for ten years!” Daichi’s voice sounds a bit farther away from the microphone, he must be getting ready.
“That fact does nothing for your argument. You’re a dick and you know it.” Hajime spots an open parking spot nearby. It’s not too far from the shop, so he should still have enough time to walk there and be a bit early.
“Doesn’t matter, Haji. Come on! It will be fun and at least you can scam someone into buying you a drink. Because we both know your poor attempts at flirting will just have the opposite effect.”
“Ha ha, very funny. Will you shut up if I say I think about it? Anyways, I’m at this shop, so I’ll talk to you later.” Hajime hangs up before Daichi can spit out a response and turns his car off. He slams his forehead on the steering wheel and groans. Why does he have to be the one to meet with the damn florist? Just because he’s from the countryside doesn’t mean he knows anything about flowers. You pick them, you put them in a vase. That’s it. It works.
“Damn it.” Hajime has so many other things he should be doing tonight, and who knows how long this damn consultation is going to last. After finally channeling the energy necessary to deal with yet another annoyance in his day, he leaves his parking spot to walk towards the flower shop.
As he turns the corner, Hajime knows he’s close because he’s suddenly hit by the sweet aroma of flowers. It seems less like he’s approaching a storefront selling flowers and more like he’s somehow walked into a field filled with wildflowers. Truthfully, it’s a bit disorienting. The university sits smack dab in the middle of a concrete jungle, with the only greenery available being the large, grassy area in the middle of campus.
The fresh scent of flowers makes him miss the aroma of the forest he frequented when he was young. However, this light, airy, and almost refreshing scent is a complete contrast to the musky scents of the woods after a fresh rain. Hajime finds himself smiling at the comparison.
He looks forward and notices the storefront immediately—it’s sticking out like a sore thumb against the boring, brick buildings surrounding it. Once red, worn-down bricks are now painted a bright, white lacquer. Fresh flowers frame the door and french-style windows, dotting the blank canvas with brilliant hues of green, pink, white, and orange. Hajime tries to get a closer look at the floral gate, but he can’t identify a single flower on the wall. He’s still a little early, too early to go inside and just wait, so he instead loiters outside for a bit.
It’s still early spring, so the chilly evening winds still make their daily rounds. Hajime digs his hands into his tan wool coat, thankful that his mother bought it for him for Christmas a few years ago.
“Hajime, you’re a handsome young man! You need to stop dressing like a jock and start dressing like you actually want to take care of yourself!”
He didn’t understand it at the time, but his mother was right. He’ll never admit it to her, but he is thankful that she completely renovated his wardrobe.
Now, instead of wearing a pair of well-worn jeans and an even more well-loved sweater, he’s dressed comfortably for his job. A black turtleneck sweater is tucked into a pair of brown, plaid slacks with his one nice, black belt secured around his waist. He finally figured out how to properly part his hair a few years ago, so now, instead of looking like a sea urchin, it looks, well, like a smaller sea urchin. It’s not that Hajime was a complete slob before and he’s turned into some vain asshole. It’s just easier to have a bunch of classic pieces he can throw on and know they will work well. Plus, he’s never been one for outlandishly bright color palettes, even the bright orange of his high school alternate uniforms was a bit too much at times.
“May I help you?”
Hajime turns to his left and sees a man tending to the flower arch. He’s wearing a white apron with The Secret Garden across the front pocket in a bright turquoise font. His gray hair is rather unusual, but his students are dyeing their hair all sorts of colors now, so he’s not completely surprised. He looks friendly enough, he must be the store owner.
“Oh, apologies. I’m Iwaizumi Hajime, I have a consultation with you at 6:30?”
The man stops his fiddling with the arch and turns back to Hajime. “Oh yes! Come right in. I’ll get you set up before Tooru arrives.”
The silver-haired man runs back into the shop, Hajime following him in a confused daze. Hajime was unsure if it was ever possible to cover a room in wall-to-wall greenery, but The Secret Garden somehow did it. Ivy cascades up white walls and floating shelves, intertwining with varying bouquets of flowers on display. And to top it all off, he can see that all of the flowers are fresh, and the plants are alive.
The owner must really care about this place, huh?
“You can wait over here in the consultation area. My name is Sugawara, so please let me know if you need anything!” Sugawara leads Hajime to a long wooden table adorned with a long floral arrangement, spanning the entire length of the table. A garland? Hajime has no idea; he’s clueless when it comes to flowers and what looks best for which circumstance. As long as other people think it looks nice, Hajime doesn’t ruminate on it too hard.
He’s still fifteen minutes past his appointment when Hajime starts getting antsy. He’s patient, yes—anyone who willingly chooses to pursue teaching college students has to be. But this is bordering on unprofessionalism. A complete disregard of his time and energy. Downright immature and selfish behavior that leaves a poor taste in Hajime’s mouth.
“Sorry, I’m late!”
Hajime looks towards the front door and sees a tall figure completely hidden behind the cardboard boxes in his arms. He’s tall, taller than Hajime from the looks of it. He stumbles forward towards the front desk and places the boxes down. Brown hair sticks up in every possible angle and...is that a branch?
The owner wipes his hands on already dirt-covered overalls and readjusts the pale blue sweater underneath before turning around and every ounce of anger in Hajime’s body dissipates immediately. Hajime knew he was gay when he was 17, but holy hell.
Brown waves fall perfectly around the man’s face, no longer looking unkempt or messy, now appearing perfectly tousled. Expressive brown eyes are emphasized by large, wire-rimmed circular glasses, making the man look younger than he probably is. There’s a bit of soil on his right cheek, but somehow, this man makes it look endearing. Overall, Hajime has never seen a man look this ethereal and soft while simultaneously looking like he just climbed out of a rabbit hole.
The whole scene was entrancing. Hajime was entranced. This man was entrancing.
Hajime was staring.
“Oh, you must be Iwaizumi-san!” Fuck, even his smile is perfect. “My name is Oikawa Tooru, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I’m sorry for running so late, there was an issue at the nursery so I was held back a bit. I hope you weren’t waiting long!” Oikawa grabs a massive white binder from the desk and sits directly across from Hajime.
“No worries—I understand that children and childcare come first.”
Apparently, Sugawara and Oikawa found that extremely reasonable statement hilarious because both of them erupt into laughter.
After a minute or two, they both calm down, and Oikawa wipes what looks to be a tear from his eye. “You really are funny, Iwaizumi-san. Although I appreciate the thought, 26 is a bit young for kids, don’t you think?”
“Oh...um...of course, yeah. You’re right,” Hajime stutters. There has to be a blush across his face, but he can’t tell if it’s from the sudden embarrassment or because Oikawa hasn’t stopped smiling at him since he sat down.
The stress and sleep exhaustion from work is really getting to him.
Hajime jumps in his seat as Oikawa slams the binder open, fingering through the sleeves to most likely find their contract agreement. God, even his hands are pretty.
“Now, Iwaizumi-san, I know we discussed arrangements for a rather large-scale event coming up in the next few weeks. Do you have a particular mood or flower assortment in mind?”
“Um?”
“Okay, I guess not. How about a color palette?”
“Uh,” Hajime says, once again completely out of his element.
“Looks like you’ll need to start at the beginning with him, Tooru!” Sugawara calls over from behind the counter. He’s obviously teasing, but Hajime can tell that the two florists are definitely close.
“I know that, Kou-chan! I’m a professional, remember?”
“Could have fooled me,” Sugawara responds.
“Don’t make me fire you!”
“You never will and we both know that. But get back to your consultation, Mr. Big-shot-business-owner!”
Hajime shouldn’t be as shocked as he is when Oikawa pouts. Legitimately pouts. In the middle of a meeting. He is even more shocked when he finds himself staring. Again.
Well, fuck.
The rest of the meeting runs as smoothly as it possibly could, with Hajime not helping whatsoever due to his lack of flower knowledge and the fact that he’s crushing hard on the new flower shop owner.
~
This is exactly why he’s now sitting at Scully’s trying to find some solace at the bottom of his second beer stein. He was hoping the embarrassment would somehow dissipate into the smokey, dark atmosphere of the bar, but Daichi, ever the enabler, keeps bringing it back up to the surface.
“Wait, you mean to tell me that this florist asked you for your favorite flowers and you said, ‘I don’t know because flowers make me sneeze.’ Hajime, what a catch!” Daichi leans back in the booth and Hajime is worried he’ll actually keel over in laughter.
So, of course, Hajime slams his forehead onto the sticky, alcohol-soaked tabletop as he groans in frustration. “I don’t even know, Daichi. Like, I barely was qualified to lead the consultation in the beginning, but, then, of course, I had to meet with literally the prettiest person I’ve ever seen. And I have to see him at least two more times! I’m never going to recover.”
“Okay, loverboy. There is a solution to this dilemma. Quite an easy one, if you think about it.” Daichi pulls Hajime upright by his collar and replaces his now third stein with water.
“Quit my job, crash at your house, and become famous for really in-depth conspiracy theories on Reddit?”
“Haji—what? I lived with you once in college and that was enough for me. I’m talking about making a move, man. I’ve been telling you that you should go and meet someone, and now you’ve finally found someone that catches your eyes!”
Swapping his water for beer, Hajime looks at Daichi in confusion. Technically, Daichi’s right. He’s still young and it’s been years since his last relationship. Maybe seeing someone would help him relax a bit, help him feel like himself again outside of the classroom.
“Even if I admit you’re right, which is a hard if, how would I even...oh fuck.”
Hajime’s jaw literally drops as he stares at the two new patrons standing at the bar. Two very familiar patrons. Fuck.
“Hajime, what happened?” Daichi follows Hajime’s line of sight to find one very tall, svelte brunet and his shorter, silver-haired companion. “Oh, I get it now. Hajime you’re going to fuck this up so bad.”
Daichi fully deserved the hard hit to the shoulder from Hajime, but he’s right. If Hajime was practically a bumbling mess during a business meeting, there’s no way he could effectively flirt with Oikawa at a bar. Or anywhere else, for that matter.
So obviously, Hajime slams his head back down on the table.
He looks back up when he sees Daichi laughing at him once again. Best friend, my ass. “May I help you, Sawamura-sensei?”
“If you weren’t such a hopeless flirt, I would ask for you to wingman for me with the shorter one. But you’re the worst because your natural charm lands you whoever you want when you aren’t trying. And when you do try, you repel everyone with your awkwardness. You’re a lost cause at this point, Haji.”
“I am not.”
“You asked a vet for his number in case your non-existent dog needed to be neutered.”
Fair enough.
Hajime takes another sip of his beer and looks back over at Oikawa who somehow looks even more ethereal than he did at the store. He’s still wearing the same blue sweater but threw on some light wash jeans and white chucks. The sweater is a bit too large for his frame, but he somehow makes it work.
It’s infuriating.
“I should just go and talk to him now, just rip the rejection band-aid off already.” Hajime prepares to get up only for Daichi to grab his shoulder and drag him back down to the booth.
“No, if you’re doing this, you’re doing it right. I’m worried about you, Hajime. This is the first person you’ve shown interest in since you broke up with your ex. I’m not letting you throw away this opportunity just because you’ve decided to be a bitch baby.”
“Oi!”
“You’re only offended because I’m right.” Daichi definitely deserves that second hit to the shoulder. “Stop! I’m trying to help you! I have an idea, have you ever heard of the language of flowers?”
~
It turns out that there really was more to floral arranging than just shoving pretty flowers in a vase and calling it a day. After completely turning into a “bitch baby” and refraining from talking to Oikawa at the bar, Hajime realized that he needed all the help he could get in trying to flirt with the florist. So, Hajime turned to what he does best.
Research.
He spent his prized lunch break diving through Wikipedia article after article diving into the intricacies of flower language. For something so niche and out of his wheelhouse, Hajime really did find himself interested in the craft. Each flower or plant or tree has its own meaning but can easily change based on the color, maturity of bloom, or even the subspecies. It was fascinating.
But obviously, things had to get more confusing. Hajime moves his cursor and clicks on a link titled The Language and Meaning of Floral Arrangement. It couldn’t be that difficult, right?
Wrong. Very wrong. Turns out that you can evoke an even deeper and more nuance of feeling through flowers by arranging them into bouquets. The more Hajime read through the website, the more confused he became. What do you mean that white carnations symbolize pure love, but the second they’re paired with butterfly weed, it means the person is asking you to move on from them? And how forget-me-nots paired with honeysuckle can be understood as a bond similar to soulmates?
After an additional two hours tacked on to the end of his lunch break, Hajime finally closes his laptop. He leans back in his well-loved and almost-broken office chair and stares up at the ceiling. He’s way in over his head and he’s already exhausted just thinking about how to properly execute this whole thing.
But he’s always been up for a challenge.
~
This might just be the worst idea Hajime has ever come up with. Sure, it makes sense in theory—test run this whole flower language thing when he picks up the first mock-up of the arrangements for their department event. Yeah, seems efficient.
It definitely would have been if he hadn’t lost his ability to speak in complete and coherent sentences the second Oikawa stepped out from the back room of the shop. He just looks so...ethereal. The golden glow of the light fixtures seems to emphasize the softness of his wavy hair. The oversized sleeves of his deep red sweater are rolled up along with the white button-down underneath, perfectly exposing the milky white skin of his forearms. He looks so cozy, and Hajime wants nothing more than to curl up next to him and nap for hours.
Maybe then Hajime would finally catch up on some much-needed sleep.
“Iwaizumi-san?”
“Oh, um...sorry. Could you repeat that?” Great job, Hajime. You completely zoned out while staring at your crush. Real smooth move there.
Oikawa just smiles at him in response. “Now, now Iwaizumi-san. Teaching can’t be that exhausting to the point that you’re falling asleep at 2:26 in the afternoon!” Oikawa leads Hajime back to their meeting spot in the shop and gestures for him to sit down before walking around the corner to his back office.
“You try to teach Japanese folklore to a bunch of spoiled brats who don’t even hide the fact that they’re playing Candy Crush on their phones during lecture.”
“Candy Crush?” Oikawa says as he comes back around the corner, two cups of coffee in hand. He places one down in front of Hajime before sitting down himself. “People haven’t played Candy Crush in years, you know? It would seem that your age is showing!”
His what? Hajime sits up a bit straighter in his chair. He’s only 26, that’s not old, right? Or maybe the years of all-nighters are finally creeping up on him. He should have listened to Hanamaki and started up that skincare routine.
He rubs at the back of his neck to relieve some of the tension that’s rapidly growing there. Hajime’s eyes dart around the room, trying to look everywhere except at the stunning man in front of him.
“I don’t...I mean...I know that. I’m not that old. I’m just a spry, lively 26-year old whose job is slowly eating away at his sanity. That’s normal, right?”
There’s a slight pause before the store erupts into laughter. Oikawa grabs at his stomach as he wipes the tears from his eyes and Hajime quickly feels himself sinking lower and lower in his chair, wanting nothing more than for the floor to swallow him whole.
“I’m a 26-year-old plant dad that was just eccentric enough about flowers that I decided to open a flower shop the second I was able to. If you’re interested in normal, you won’t find it here, Iwa-chan.”
Iwa-chan?
“Iwa-chan?” It sounds way too foreign on his tongue. To make matters worse, Hajime despises the fact that he doesn’t completely hate the way it perfectly rolls off of Oikawa’s lips.
“I think it’s fitting, don’t you?” Oikawa packs up his things like he didn’t just completely rock Hajime’s world with a single, immature, disgustingly endearing nickname.
“I know we’ve stayed past our designated appointment time, Iwa-chan, and I don’t want to keep you if you have other places to go.”
“No! Oh, no, I mean…” Hajime stumbles over his words as Oikawa makes his way towards a small cluster of hanging plants in the opposite corner of the store. Has he always noticed people’s hands? Or just hands that are this pretty? Has he always thought hands could be pretty, or…
“Hm?” Oikawa says, the majority of his attention now dedicated to lightly misting the greenery and his back still turned to Hajime.
He pulls out the small list of flowers from his pocket, the culmination after hours of practically nonsensical research and even more nonsensical phone calls to Daichi late at night.
“I uh, I wanted to request an arrangement—personal! Not professional. Not everything I do is for work and I thought this would be nice to have in my office since I’m there a lot. But not all the time! I do have time to get out and socialize and…”
Oh heavens, he’s floundering. Hard. This is worse than the vet.
Hajime finally stops his incessant rambling by a gentle pressure on his shoulder. Immediately, he comes back to his senses and finds the florist standing right in front of him.
“No need to be nervous about flowers, Iwa-chan. Now, let me see the list and I’ll see what we have in stock, hm?”
The ground feels solid once again under Hajime’s feet and his cluttered mind is cleared. He hands the crumbled-up post-it note to Oikawa, who takes it happily. Hajime thinks Oikawa is asking more questions, but he’s so focused on the lingering coolness on his palm where their fingers touched.
This was such a bad idea. He’s going to know. He’s going to see the flowers written in Hajime’s illegible handwriting and know.
Asparagus fern. I’m fascinated by you.
Calla Lily. I’m drawn to your magnificence and beauty.
White Hyacinth. You’re lovely.
Plumeria. A flower for new beginnings.
Hajime is practically begging Oikawa to go on a date with him with this arrangement. He feels like a pining idiot.
Which fits, because he is.
“Who would have known that the same Iwa-chan that didn’t know what vases he needed for his event would ask for such a pretty arrangement! You are in luck because we still had everything in stock.” Oikawa comes around the corner with an arrangement so delicate, Hajime is afraid he will crush it as he brings it to his car.
“It looks great,” is all he can say because honestly, Hajime still doesn’t know the difference between a good bouquet and a bad one.
But he knows everything Oikawa creates is magnificent.
But does he know? He has to know what it means, right?
“You picked a really interesting combination. I’m surprised someone so deep in academia could come up with such a delicate design.” And the bastard had the audacity to wink at him.
The fucker definitely knows.
“Oi, just because I’m an academic doesn’t mean I’m helpless when it comes to picking shit out. I can dress myself, so flowers are no different.”
Oikawa laughs at that and Hajime can’t tell if it’s a victory or if he should be offended.
“Arranging flowers to evoke a whole new depth of emotion is a bit different than putting your pants on one leg at a time, Iwa-chan.”
Offended. Definitely offended.
“You’re lucky that I already signed a contract for that damn fundraiser or else I would threaten to take my business elsewhere.” He tried to exude an air of intimidation in his voice, but the way his large, calloused fingers dance around the fragile calla lilies, afraid to damage them, says otherwise.
A soft bell rings as the front door opens, tearing Hajime away from his own little world. A world that’s filled with soft smiles, cheeks dusted with freckles, and someone whose blush makes even a rose turn away in jealousy. A time where he can forget about impending work deadlines or research papers or the fact that the object of his desires is way too out of his league.
A world where Hajime feels hopelessly, unapologetically smitten and happy with Oikawa by his side.
Oikawa’s attention quickly darts over to the waiting customer, his “just one moment,” ever accommodating when paired with a perfected smile and a subtle head tilt. Oikawa was made for this—perfectly at home helping others and doing his best to suit their exact needs. Creating evocative floral arrangements while making them feel like they’re the only person in the world at that moment.
Look at me. Keep looking my way as I do yours.
It’s no wonder Hajime never wants to leave the four walls of The Secret Garden. But he has to.
He gathers his flowers quickly, trying his very best to control his nerves enough as to not drop the beautiful vase square on the ground. He thankfully succeeds and starts towards the door. Hajime wishes he could say more, he wants to say more. But words once again fail him. He deems a subtle nod in Oikawa’s direction enough so he doesn’t distract him from his work.
Why did he have to throw such a harsh piece of banter around? Yeah, he could do something like that with Daichi, and he used to do it all the time when he and Atsumu dated. But he just met Oikawa relatively recently. Was his tone lighthearted enough? What was Oikawa’s reaction? He was too distracted by the flowers to even notice, and now he has a customer and the silence between them is suffocating. Should he turn back around or would that be too awkward or he could—
“I’m looking forward to seeing you again, Iwa-chan! Maybe one day I’ll get through that hard head of yours and manage to show you how important subtlety can be!”
Hajime runs through the door, not wanting the redness on his cheeks to embarrass him any further.
Was he seeing things? He had to be. Because there’s no way Oikawa winked at him. He must have imagined such a kind, gentle smile from Oikawa shining his way.
He leans up against the white brick of the Secret Garden’s outer façade, clutching the vase to his chest as he gathers his bearings before his evening class.
Fuck. He’s in deep. But even worse, Hajime doesn’t even know if he ever wants to get out of this hole.
Look at me. Only me.
Hajime can’t do anything else other than walk away.
~
He can’t tell what’s more insulting on a Sunday morning, the sunlight drowning out any and all darkness from behind his eyelids or his alarm that continues to blare no matter how many times he hits snooze.
6:30 am. Great.
Hajime runs a hand down his face, hoping to wipe away any residual sleep alongside the motion. It doesn’t work. It never works. But that doesn’t mean he’s smart enough to stop trying. He wants nothing more than to stay in bed and catch another few minutes of sleep. Sadly, that dream is crushed by the sounds of three very quiet thumps coming from the opposite side of Hajime’s bedroom door.
“Breakfast time for everyone, I guess.” He swings his legs around and the icy chill of his floor steadily brings some awareness to his surroundings. His body still feels heavy with sleep, but having another living thing to take care of really does wonders in helping get your day started.
Opening his door slightly, it’s quickly blown open as a very familiar small, light brown blur starts jumping and licking at Hajime’s feet. He quickly leans down and picks the Pekingese up and holds her in his arms like the baby she is.
“Morning, Maple,” Hajime says. If there’s a slight tone of “baby voice” in his words, no one will ever know. Except for Daichi, but he’s sworn to secrecy.
Maple offers her own good morning with a slight huff before slathering his chin in sloppy puppy kisses. Hajime indulges her for a moment before placing her back down on the ground as his body subconsciously carries him towards his coffee maker. He prepares Maple’s breakfast as he waits, and she’s more than happy to accept her meal wholeheartedly.
Once his subpar coffee is brewed, he walks across his old, but adequate apartment and makes his way towards the balcony. He opens the door and the crisp, spring air finally gives him the kick in the ass he needed to finally wake up. This has been his routine for the last two or three years. No matter how much he bitches and moans about it, Hajime looks forward to his Sundays.
It’s the only time during the week that he can just...be. Enjoy the small, delicate moments during the day and center himself before he has to, once again, slave himself over another grueling work week. He spent too long working nonstop, only taking breaks during work and research when his body clocked out without his permission. It finally took an intervention from his mother and Daichi as well as an impulsive trip to a puppy café with Hanamaki for him to finally learn to wind down.
He takes a deep breath, inhaling the warm, comforting scent of freshly brewed coffee perfectly balanced with the crisp morning dew. Hajime focuses on just that, breathing. Being for as long as he can. It usually takes one cup of coffee, sometimes a second after an exceptionally bad week, for him to finally come into his body.
Hajime likes Sundays. He likes mornings. Because it’s one of the only times where he feels like himself. He’s exposed, vulnerable to the warmth of the sunrise. All layers of professionalism or his usual façade absent as he grounds himself once more.
Hajime likes Sundays. It’s when he receives the much-needed reminder that being alone is nice on occasion, but a person can not thrive in such a state of permanence. Even the most resilient of evergreens seem small and withered when separated from the forest.
As he walks back into the apartment, Maple nipping at his ankles as he drags his feet and Hajime starts thinking. Which is never a good sign. His eyes lazily drag over towards his coffee table, where a familiar arrangement of delicate flowers rests. They sit on the table alone, too beautiful to be anything other than a centerpiece. They deserve all the attention they get.
Just like the florist that made them.
Hajime stopped by the flower shop on Tuesday. It’s now Sunday morning and he can’t stop thinking about Oikawa and his damn flowers. But there’s nothing he can do about it.
The next time Hajime will see him is in two weeks. At their next and last consultation. He should have asked Oikawa out to drinks while he had the chance, but hindsight is 20/20 and Hajime continually finds himself practically blind in the moment.
He needs to clear his mind. It’s finally warming up outside, so maybe a walk in the park would do him some good. Maple still needs to go out, but she’s too small to keep up with him on his usual runs.
Hajime needs to learn how to lean into leisure. To not think about steps B through Z when he’s barely finished step A. He needs to do it but damn if it isn’t hard to shatter that habit.
He looks down at the adorably smooshed face of the puppy, the purple bandana around her neck making her pleading face look even more adorable. How could he say no to such deep, perfectly round, and expressive brown eyes?
He gets himself ready with ease and quickness before gathering her harness and making their way towards a nearby park. Hajime’s looking forward to yet another nice, uneventful morning.
As he steps out of his building and Maple leads the way towards her favorite corner of the park. He originally chose his apartment based on its low price and decent proximity to the university, but he had no idea it was right next to a hidden gem.
Walkways curve and weave around a centralized pond, grass vibrant and plush from the recent weeks’ rain. Bundles of flowers and other unidentifiable greenery frame each walking path. The morning air feels heavy with the scent of flowers and wet earth.
Maple’s practically nonexistent gait forces Hajime to take in the sights and sounds. Normally, he would run through two or three pathways, working up a sweat and thinking about the next four or five things he needs to do before work that morning.
But now, Hajime looks up to the canopy of pink sakura blossoms, the light blue of the sky and golden sun just barely peeking through the spaces between branches. He wonders if he could count every petal if he had all the time in the world.
And suddenly, Hajime is no longer staring up at the pinks and blues and golds of the sky above him. No, now Hajime is falling flat on his face.
He desperately tries to get the taste of dirt out of his mouth and move into a sitting position, but Maple’s incessant need to lick his face isn’t helping at all. Finally, he sits up and she crawls into his lap completely undisturbed by what just occurred.
To make matters worse, Hajime hears probably the worst thing possible.
“Oh gosh, I’m so sorry! I wasn’t looking where I was going and spaced out, so I ran into you and…”
Hajime didn’t catch the last part because he now found himself staring up at the same deep brown eyes that have haunted him for the last few days. Weeks, even.
Oikawa looks equally as shocked, and Hajime can see the realization hit him as his jaw drops.
He knows they share a matching expression, eyes wide and mouth gaping like a fish, but most likely for different reasons.
Oikawa, because he practically launched a client to the ground and Hajime because he never knew a blue tracksuit could look so sexy before.
But that was before he saw the florist in a blue tracksuit.
And there’s a perfect pick-up line about “somehow falling for you” that crosses Hajime’s mind, but the little devil on his shoulder that sounds scarily like Daichi tells him that it’s a bad idea.
The silence between them is going on for just a bit too long to not be awkward. Especially now that Maple’s attention has moved from Hajime’s face to jumping on Oikawa, practically begging for him to pick her up. And it must have worked because suddenly, Oikawa’s smooth and soft hand is securely in Hajime’s as he helps the objectively much stockier man up from the ground.
He must be imagining things, but Hajime swears that their hands remain intertwined for longer than necessary. He knows because there’s somehow enough time for his brain to recalibrate and recognize that Oikawa’s hands feel similar to the calla lily petals his fingers dance across every night.
There’s also enough time for him to recognize the absence of warmth as Oikawa’s hand leaves his to pick up his menace of a dog.
“Well, aren’t you just the sweetest thing!” Oikawa says as he stands up, Maple happily secure in his arms.
Hajime has never been so jealous of a dog in his life.
“Now, Iwa-chan, who would have known that a brute like you would have such an adorable creature as a pet!”
“Don’t be an ass just because you’re off the clock, Oikawa.” Hajime leans down to dust off his pants. And maybe he bent a little further to hide the redness on his cheeks.
“What do you mean? I’m a perfect angel with an even better judge of character!” Maple, the little traitor, takes the opportunity to lick Oikawa’s cheek in agreement and Hajime can’t help but scowl at the little pup.
“Put her down already, you’re spoiling her.”
“Aw, why? She obviously likes me, which means she has good taste and that deserves a reward, does it not?”
God, he’s such a little shit.
Hajime crosses his arms over his chest, knowing that with two sets of big, brown eyes staring at him, there’s no way he’s going to win. “Fine.” He walks forward a few steps and closes the distance between them, feeling like he just threw all safety blankets out the window.
It’s time to be bold, Hajime.
He takes Maple’s leash off her collar and looks up at Oikawa. They’re practically nose to nose and it’s suffocating. Every other time they’ve met there’s always been some barrier between them. The large wooden table at the shop. The expanse of Scully’s bar during Hajime’s one night out. The labels of patron and owner.
But now, there’s nothing separating them, no label aside from their names and no space aside from the air between them.
And a tiny brown Pekingese, but that’s beside the point.
Hajime quickly steps back, finding comfort in the extra inches of space before he continues walking down the path. “You can hold her until we get near the next greenspace. Maple’s got more energy than her body knows what to do with so she needs to run around a bit so we can both keep our sanity.”
He doesn’t need to look back to know Oikawa is happily following him. And he doesn’t think about the implications of the subtle smile on the florist’s face as they walk side by side.
Once again, the silence of the morning settles around them and it feels even lighter than before. Now, instead of gazing up at the blues and pinks and golds of the canopy above them, Hajime’s mind wanders.
He now thinks of the petal pinks of plump lips. Of the rich blue contrasting against pale skin. Of the deep, gold streaks forming in brown waves.
God, he’s fucked.
“So,” Oikawa finally breaks the silence as they approach the greenspace. Maple practically jumps out of his arms and Hajime is completely aware that they are now officially alone.
“Sorry for disturbing your peaceful morning walk, Iwa-chan. You probably didn’t plan to get thrown on the ground so easily when you left your house this morning.”
Hajime shakes his head. “Don’t worry, it takes a lot more than a light shove like that to shake me. And no worries,” he looks over to Oikawa for the first time since they started walking.
“I enjoy your company, so I don’t mind at all.”
He keeps walking, making sure to keep an eye on Maple as she rough houses with some big German Shepherd. He makes it a few feet before noticing that Oikawa hasn’t moved. “Oi, your feet stop working or something?”
That seems to snap Oikawa out of his trance as he jogs forward to join Hajime once again.
They walk like that for who knows how long. Slowly, Hajime’s nerves slip away as their usual banter slips into their conversation. They find out that they grew up in the same prefecture, Miyagi, but attended different schools. Oikawa was lucky enough to attend Aoba Johsai, but Hajime and Daichi stayed in the public school district of Karasuno.
Both teams routinely made it to Inter High for volleyball, but Karasuno never made it far enough to play the consistently top-seeded Aoba Johsai.
“So, what made you pick academia? I’m sure there were some universities that were looking for a bulky, violent wing spiker like you and you could have kept up with volleyball if you wanted.” Oikawa’s fingers lightly trace over one of the dozen hydrangea bushes on either side of them, but Hajime tries not to stare.
“I don’t know, honestly. I loved volleyball, but it’s not a ‘forever’ career. Sure, there are brand deals and tv appearances if you’re lucky enough to go pro, but the body eventually gives out. I wanted something I could do until my last days, and you never stop learning. So, I took a shot in the dark and majored in history before realizing how much I actually enjoyed it. Then, everything else just fell into place.
Sure, I deal with brats in an entry-level class who could give two shits about Japanese folklore as long as they pass, but it’s challenging.” Hajime looks at Oikawa.
“And I like a challenge.”
Oikawa swallows just a bit too hard to be comfortable and Hajime knows he won. Maybe this flirting thing isn’t so hard, after all.
He’ll need to brag about this to Daichi later.
“What about you? You were the star setter of Miyagi, if I remember correctly, what brought you to become a florist?” Oikawa swallows again, and this time Hajime knows he fucked up. It’s obviously a sore subject for him, and Oikawa’s tight shoulders and shallow breathing tells Hajime that it’s really a sore subject for him.
“But if it’s something personal and sensitive, you don’t need to share. I’m sorry for crossing a line I didn’t mean to. I just want to know more about you…But not in a creepy way! I just think you’re interesting and we’ve been working together for a while so it just seemed right but if not then…”
“Iwa-chan you’re rambling again,” Oikawa says with a smile. Oh thank goodness, he’s smiling again.
Hajime wasn’t even aware of how stiff his body had become until Oikawa gently rubs the tension out of his right shoulder. He might be imagining things, but Hajime swears that all tension and stress melts out of his body just from a single touch. His worries and nerves are still there, just...diluted. Muted and quiet for once.
It’s nice.
“I didn’t want to stop playing, but I had to.”
“Oh.” Smooth Hajime.
Hajime is fully aware of Oikawa’s hand in his. Of the demure yet uncomfortable expression replacing his usual jovial and lighthearted one. Hajime leads the two of them over to a secluded bench nearby so Oikawa can feel some sort of privacy while he most likely spills his heart out to Hajime.
“I got a scholarship to play at a university in Tokyo. Fully funded and I was their starting setter.” Oikawa squeezes Hajime’s hand. Hajime squeezes back. Oikawa continues.
“Everything was perfect. Classes were okay but volleyball was my priority. I was the only first year on the first string and the pressure was...it was a lot. The upperclassmen kept pushing me, goodhearted or not I couldn’t tell.”
Oikawa looks off, his gaze leading him somewhere else. Somewhere deep within his memory. Hajime squeezes his hand again.
“We kept winning, but I never felt satisfied. I practiced and practiced and continually pushed myself. I needed to be better. It wasn’t just a want or a craving anymore. It was a goal I needed to feel some sense of accomplishment. So I pushed.
And then I broke.”
Oikawa looks back at Hajime and truly, Hajime has never seen such deep rooted heartbreak settle across someone’s face before. Not even the bright morning sun illuminates the dark depths of Oikawa’s eyes. Hajime can practically feel the melancholy from such a vulnerable memory.
And then suddenly, it’s gone. The Oikawa that Hajime has grown to know returns, all bright eyed and bushy tailed yet, slightly more...alive. Dynamic, and real, not a façade in sight.
“Torn ACL from a poorly timed serve. I hadn’t gotten a good night’s rest in weeks and I landed wrong. Needed surgery and my doctors told me if I kept playing at that level, I might not be able to bounce back. So, I had to quit. It wasn’t a choice.”
They sit, the silence suffocating Hajime to the point that his chest aches. He aches for Oikawa. A man who lights up every room he’s in. A man who had to redirect his overflowing ambition after his lifelong dream was snuffed out from under him. A man who has found a new dream rooted in bringing little bits of joy into the lives of others.
Neither chooses to break the silence, because Hajime’s presence is enough. His lack of pity and toxic-positivity is genuine and speaks volumes. So they sit. They rest and watch the sun rise overhead while in their own little worlds.
But they’re together.
And that’s enough for now.
At some point, Maple toddles over to their bench with a branch the approximate size of a Louisville Slugger somehow in her mouth, and Hajime decides that it’s time for them to leave.
He gets up, and Oikawa joins them in their walk towards the apartment. They reach the edge of the park and stop, turning to one another with matching looks that can only be described as fond.
“I guess this is where I head out,” Hajime says. “Don’t want to keep my lukewarm coffee waiting too long.”
Out of everything that happened over the last hour and a half, Oikawa squeezing Hajime’s shoulders with the force of God was not on the list of expectations.
“Iwa-chan, please don’t tell me your choice of life and renewed vigor in the morning is a brew that’s closer to sewer juices than actual coffee.” His face looks dire, like Hajime’s answer could mean a life or death situation. So Hajime makes the best choice in this situation.
“Uh…”
Golden.
“That’s it! I can’t let your already sad and depressing life continue to grow even more sad and depressing. The next time you come in, I’m showing you what good coffee tastes like!” Oikawa crosses his arms and smirks like the smug bastard he is. Yet, the only thing Hajime can think about is…
Date?
He bends down to pick up Maple, and, before his mouth can catch up to his fried brain, he says, “then it’s a date,” and walks away.
He can’t see Oikawa’s face, but Hajime can’t help but smirk at the slight lilt in Oikawa’s voice as he yells, “I’ll see you Thursday then, Iwa-chan!”
Hajime crosses the threshold of his apartment and lets Maple down to run throughout her kingdom. He leans up against the smooth wood of his front door just as reality sets in.
“Oh fuck, is this a date?”
And then he panics. So he calls Daichi.
~
It’s now Thursday, and Hajime truly questions how he deals with Daichi on a daily basis. In his moment of panic on Sunday morning, Daichi’s oh-so-sage advice could be summed up as, “dress nice, don’t think of it as a date or else you’ll freeze, and take him out for drinks afterwards. Just pop by Scully’s for happy hour and I’ll head in in case you need backup when you inevitably flounder.”
To think, his best friend held him in such high esteem. What a great guy.
“Fuck.” Hajime, once again, wishes he didn’t have to leave his car to go into the store and he definitely shouldn’t have listened to Daichi’s advice and “dress up.” Because now he looks like a fucking try hard at 3:38 on a fucking Thursday afternoon.
The red and black flannel could have been an easy pass, but combining it with his black ripped jeans and his black Timberlands pushed it just shy of being too much. After yet another minute wondering how many head slams against a steering wheel would result in a much-needed concussion, Hajime decides it’s time to pull the trigger and face his nerves and anxiety.
The small, folded up piece of stationary in his back pocket feels like lead.
Hajime takes his time walking up to the store front. He’s set to arrive ahead of schedule, and the thought that this might be his last opportunity to see Oikawa is a bit too real at the moment. He wants this. He wants something, but he’s nowhere near as strong as others think he is.
Hajime takes safe risks. If an opportunity lies in front of him, he’ll take it. But the thought of approaching Oikawa out of the blue and getting rejected?
Hajime doesn’t know if he could come back from that.
Yes, it’s dramatic. But Hajime takes calculated risks for a reason. And the vulnerability around relationships is exactly that reason.
Finally, the floral archway of The Secret Garden comes into view. He takes a deep breath and the sweet scent of peonies fills his senses. Peonies, he thinks to himself. I wouldn’t have known what a peony even looked like a few weeks ago.
The door opens and the tinkering of a bell alerts the shop keeper that he’s arrived. Sugawara is stationed behind the front desk, adding a vase of roses to the refrigerator to keep them fresh.
“Hey Sugawara-san,” Hajime says casually. The florist turns around and a bright, yet somehow sinister, smile appears.
“Iwaizumi-san, you’re early! Tooru is finishing up something for a big wedding, but he said you can head straight back to his office.” And then the fucker had the audacity to wink.
Between Suga at the shop and Daichi at, well, everything else, Hajime felt like his life was just going to get more and more difficult.
“Thanks, Sugawara-san.” Hajime walks past the counter towards Oikawa’s office with a light, “I told you to call me Suga,” bringing a slight smile to his face. As Hajime approaches the office, he hears his heart pounding in his ears. He takes a deep, shaky breath before rapping on the doorframe. Suddenly, the tips of his shoes are much more interesting than anything that could be on the other side of the doorframe.
“One sec, Kou-chan, I need to find this, oh fuck—” and suddenly, Hajime hears what seems like a desk chair fall to the ground followed by the spattering of papers flying everywhere. Pleasantries aside, he heads into the office space to help where he can.
“Oikawa, are you okay? What hap—” Hajime stops in the middle of the room, seeing a messy mop of brown hair fiddling and flurrying behind a large, vintage looking desk. Ivy and other greenery line the white walls of the office, making it seem larger than it most likely is. Yet, the leaves and random branches strewn across the floor are definitely out of place, even to Hajime’s eye.
“Fuck. Why now of all times? Why can’t I just..” Small, almost demure and shy mumbles come from behind the desk as Oikawa attempts to get things back into some semblance of order.
“Oikawa?” Hajime calls over, his voice just loud enough to not jostle the man even more.
Which failed. Because Hajime heard something that resembled a head hitting the underside of the desk followed by a soft, “ouch.”
He curls around the side of the desk and kneels down, all nerves settled as he dedicates himself to helping gather the fallen documents and ease some of the worries in Oikawa’s mind.
Oikawa crawls out from underneath the desk and continues to gather the greenery stems and bundle them into some semblance of a bouquet before tying them off with a rubber band. He’s focused on the task at hand and doesn’t even look at Hajime to see if he’s doing everything correctly.
They somehow get everything in order, at least Hajime considers it orderly, and Hajime stands up. Oikawa seems perfectly content remaining on the ground surrounded by fallen leaves and ferns, and Hajime can’t help but laugh at how the florist looks like a forest kodama from one of his folklore lessons.
Hajime extends a hand, open and waiting. Oikawa finally looks up, and Hajime’s breath catches.
The light dusting of freckles that Hajime adores so much is now eclipsed by a deep, rosy hue. Warm brown eyes meet his before darting away quickly to some other area of the room as Oikawa tightens his grip on his own oversized Keio University crewneck.
Although it was a nasty tumble, Hajime can’t imagine why Oikawa would be so embarrassed. Especially after the intense faceplant Hajime had the last time they met.
Yet, there Hajime stands, his hand outstretched towards Oikawa. One could call it endearing, the way he remains in place, silent and astute but staring softly at the frazzled man below him.
Oikawa hesitantly takes it, and Hajime quickly pulls him upright, momentum helping his cause. The florist flies forward as Hajime staggers back, neither having enough time to prepare for the sudden shift in balance. Oikawa lands flush against Hajime’s chest and finally, finally, looks at him.
“Hi,” Hajime says.
“Hiya,” Oikawa replies in a soft tone.
Seconds tick on the clock and each second seems in time with the heartbeat Hajime hears blaring in his ears. Neither dares move until Hajime’s grip on Oikawa’s hand loosens and it glides against his chest before falling to the florist’s hip.
Oikawa steps back suddenly. “I..uh..sorry about that whole thing, Iwa-chan!” He rubs the tension out of his neck before quickly walking over to a small, round table in the corner of the room. Oikawa fiddles with binders and what look to be contracts as Hajime walks over. His Timbs definitely made his footsteps much louder than he intended, because Oikawa stares at his shoes before making his way up to make eye contact with Hajime. They lock eyes just long enough for Hajime to cock his head in confusion before Oikawa darts back to finalizing their paperwork.
“It’s uh...no worries, Oikawa. Everything good?” Hajime pulls out a chair and sits down. Oikawa smiles at him and waves his hand dismissively, but Hajime can’t help but notice his smile is...different. It’s strained, forced, like the ones he sometimes uses with clients.
Am I just a client now?
“Anyways, Iwa-chan! Let’s finish up this big mess of a delivery to your big, stinky department party, hm?”
“Oh, yeah sure. Whatever works.” Hajime leans in slightly to look over all of the finalized paperwork and assure that everything is in order. He must have been too lost in the words and business jargon to notice that he’s now shoulder to shoulder with Oikawa.
“Sorry about that,” Hajime says, but doesn’t see the need to move. He’s still looking at the documents and needs to see everything clearly.
Oikawa doesn’t move either. In fact, he leans in more against Hajime. So, Hajime lets it happen.
He also lets the heat bloom on his face, but hopes that Oikawa is too distracted to notice.
Hajime continues to listen as Oikawa talks him through the logistics, and wonders how such a light and lilting tone can make even a business transaction sound so interesting.
“Anyways, that’s about it.” Oikawa’s weight leaves Hajime’s shoulder and it almost seems...cold without his residual warmth. The binder in front of them slams shut as Oikawa gathers up the last of the paperwork to hand it to Hajime, perfectly wrapped and sealed in a Secret Garden branded folder.
Hajime’s hesitant. If he takes it, then they’re done. This...thing… between them is done. Business dealings or otherwise.
And, more than anything, Hajime doesn’t want this to be over. It can’t be.
Oikawa tilts his head in confusion, most likely due to Hajime’s hesitation at taking the documents. “Iwa-chan, are you—”
Now or never.
“Actually,” Hajime reaches into his back pocket, trying to hide the slight tremor in his hand as he pulls out the messily folded piece of paper.
“Actually, I was hoping you would help me with one more arrangement.”
“Oh really, Iwa-chan? You do know that I’ll have to try to fit a last-minute arrangement into my very busy schedule, hm? Or did your brutish brain not comprehend that piece of logistics?” Oikawa leans on his hand as his eyes go half-lidded. Hajime can only swallow in a poor attempt to appease the sudden dryness in his mouth.
“Yeah, um…” He fumbles with the paper before slapping it in Oikawa’s open hand, not even looking to double-check the selected flowers are correct. He doesn’t need to. He did enough research over the last few nights and made sure everything was perfect so this should be the thing that really—
“Iwaizumi-san?”
Oh fuck. He did not like his full name coming out of Oikawa’s mouth.
His throat is too dry to even produce a verbal response. So instead, he settles for opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water.
You know, like a cool guy would do.
“I—” he manages. But Oikawa only stares back, brown eyes fully blown as the soft pink dusted across his cheeks turns into a fiery red.
“You…” Oikawa suddenly throws his hands up to cover his face, the slip of paper now long forgotten and falling to the table in front of them. Hajime looks down at it as the sheer embarrassment taking over his body repels him from his crush and…
Oh fuck.
In front of him, on a crumpled up piece of paper is a list of flowers for a new arrangement.
And their intended meanings.
Blush roses. Blossoming romance.
Cornflower. Hope in love.
Honeysuckle. Devotion.
Clovenlip toadflax. Notice my feelings.
Hajime needs to do something—to say something—to stop this from turning into an even larger trainwreck than it already is.
“I know it’s cheesy but I’m not very good at these things. Like at all. Normally shit either hits the fan really early on or I somehow stumble through effective flirting but you...You just...Fuck, Oikawa, I just really like you. Like a lot, more than I ever thought I could, and I really don’t want to fuck this up.”
“Iwa-chan…”
“I’m sorry for being so immature and doing this in such a convoluted way, but I get so nervous when it comes to asking people out. So I thought this would work! Let the flowers do the speaking for me…”
“Iwa-chan.”
“And I should have known after the first bouquet when you didn’t say anything about it. But maybe you were just being kind and embarrassed that the bouquet was just me gushing over you but it’s fine. I’ll head out and—”
“Hajime!”
Hajime stops and finally looks at Oikawa whose eyes now carry a glossy sheen to them. He doesn’t even know when he stood up from his chair, but Oikawa’s hand is now firmly around his wrist, anchoring him to his spot in front of Oikawa’s chair.
“Iwa-chan, if I may?”
Hajime nods. It’s all he can muster at the moment.
Oikawa stands so they’re eye to eye. Chest to chest. And Oikawa’s hand slips down into his.
“It was incredibly cheesy, I’ll give you that. But,” a delicate thumb traces a delicate circle around Hajime’s calloused palm.
“It’s a good thing I’m a romantic at heart. I’m also apparently not as attentive as I once believed.”
With that, Oikawa drags Hajime out of his office and out to the main area of the shop. “Wait, Oikawa, what about Suga?” Hajime chokes out.
Oikawa drops his hand as they approach the back of the counter. He fiddles with his nails, most likely due to nerves. “I...I told him earlier to go home once you arrived at the shop.”
Now Hajime’s even more confused. Why did Oikawa tell him that? And, more importantly, why is he drawing out this inevitable rejection?
Oikawa bends behind the counter and pulls out a tray of what looks to be beakers and a weird-looking teapot like it’s straight out of the chemistry department.
The warm scent of freshly ground, actually freshly ground, coffee fills the air as Oikawa opens a small mason jar next to the teapot.
Oh.
“I said I would promise you a good cup of coffee last time we were together, didn’t I?” And there it is, that warm smile that continues to draw Hajime in like a moth to flame is back. No longer hidden behind nerves or a mask, but raw and happy.
Delighted, almost.
And Hajime knows he has a matching smile because he hasn’t felt this kind of relief or joy in a while. But he needs to know.
“Stop beating around the bush, Oikawa. Don’t leave me hanging.” He leans over the counter so Oikawa has no choice but to look directly at him. To see him in every conceivable way. Just like Hajime has wanted this entire time.
“Yes.”
“Hm?” Now he’s just being an asshole, but Hajime’s having fun with it.
“Yes, I return your feelings! Iwa-chan, you dumb brute, stop bullying me! I’m a delicate flower, and, if you keep being mean to me, I’ll ruin your coffee.” Oikawa looks down at the pour-over contraption in front of him, but Hajime catches the slightest upturn of his lips as he does so.
“I’m not bullying you. This is payback for you letting me think you would reject me, Shittykawa.”
Now, that garnered a response.
“Shittykawa?”
Hajime shrugs. “If I’m ‘Iwa-chan’, then you get to be ‘Shittykawa’. Fair’s fair.”
Oikawa pouts and Hajime’s attention is once again drawn to petal-soft lips. “Not fair, and I never led you on! Today was just prolonged, so I could get my bearings before confessing!”
“I confessed to you with that other arrangement, though. Did you not pick up on it?”
Now, Oikawa looks confused. “No? Why would I? You didn’t have the explanations on the page last time if I remember correctly.” Oikawa hands Hajime his coffee and the deep rich brown of the drink sets his heart and mind at ease.
“Shouldn’t you have known? Ya know, with the whole ‘flower language’ bullshit florists know and all.” He takes a sip and it’s perfect.
“Oh! The language of flowers! Kou-chan tried to teach it to me when we first talked about opening the shop, but there was so much research involved I skipped over it. He handles most of those requests now! I just focus on the aesthetic...Iwa-chan?”
Hajime was choking. Legitimately choking at the realization that he spent more time researching flower language than the literal florist he was courting.
“Nevermind,” Hajime says. He rubs some of the tension out of his throat and laughs, genuinely laughs, at the thought.
His heart is full, so very full at this moment. His dumb plan, no matter how many twists and turns popped up out of nowhere, ended up working. And he’s happy. All exhaustion and stress and anger regarding his work week or this damn work function are replaced with a level of fondness Hajime hasn’t felt in a long time. He grabs onto Oikawa’s free hand and squeezes, desperately needing a lifeline to this very earth as he feels like his heart is about to burst.
“If you insist,” Oikawa says, sipping his own cup as he squeezes Hajime’s hand back. “Now, I believe we were just about to settle down for our first date.”
Hajime catches a bouquet in the fridge behind Oikawa and can’t help but feel like he’s come full circle. A bouquet of clovenlip toadflax and yellow lilies.
I accept you and I’d love to love you.