Chapter Text
Iris texts him she’ll be late, so Barok finds himself with some extra time on his hands. He spends it giving his flat a new —and fairly needed— sense of order. After all, the place is a mess; there are boxes everywhere, with clothes and books laying around on both the floor and the limited furniture he bothered bringing with him. Albert did offer to let him stay at his place, but Barok readily rejected the idea as soon as it was brought up over the phone. He didn’t need his best friend having first row seats to this side of him, or to what clearly promised to end badly for everyone involved.
After he has most of his clothes in the wardrobe and has cleaned the bedroom —the only other room besides the bathroom—, he gets his keys and pockets his wallet. It’s not sunny outside, of course not, but the weather is acceptable for a change, so he doesn’t see the need to put on anything over his black shirt. He does grimace when he walks by the mirror near the entrance, though, but he tells himself that it’s Saturday and that he is on bereavement leave, for God’s sake. Surely he is allowed to wear simple dark jeans and a t-shirt for once.
He still turns on his heels and trades the top for a navy dress shirt.
The coffee shop where he is meeting Iris is just a few blocks away, so he doesn’t take the car with him. The brick apartment building has probably seen better days, but Barok had deemed it good enough when he decided to move —not that he had a cool head at the time, but still—, and now that he is finally here, he can say confidently that he achieved his goal of getting away from anything remotely reminiscent of his old home. Maybe moving to Germany would have been a better choice in that regard, but even he doubted that fleeing the country would help his case at all. If anything, it would add remorse to the cocktail of complex and unnecessary feelings he had swirling in the pit of his stomach.
He doesn’t run into any of his new neighbors just yet, which is frankly a relief. Thanks to that he can focus on putting one foot in front of the other as he makes his way into the street, enjoying his pleasantly blank mind for a little while.
Which is namely, a whole two blocks and no more. That is, until the unequivocal sweet scent of flowers makes him stop on his tracks. There is a flower shop to his right, big display window giving him a glimpse of shelves with plant pots and colorful specimens that draw the eye. Barok doesn’t like flowers that much, not anymore, but he knows Iris loves them and that she must be feeling as numb and miserable as him, so perhaps a present is in order.
He takes a deep breath before pushing the glass door open. It smells like spring inside, like damp earth, and Barok makes a face.
The little bell above his head chimes lightly, its sound barely disrupting the quiet, barely-there piano music in the store, and Barok expects a clerk to materialize out of thin air, but no one shows up. Barok momentarily considers taking the opportunity to leave, but he scolds himself for taking the easy way out even when a little effort would make Iris smile, and so he forces himself to step in properly.
The shop is not what one would call big, but there are so many different colors all around, on the tall shelves that are rather cramped, that it feels like one could get lost between aisles. As he looks around, he notices most of the pots have handwritten labels with the name of the plants, followed by the prices. He wonders if the owners expect the customers to help themselves to whatever they need and leave the money on the counter. And speaking of which, the counter sits silently further across the room, a mustard curtain behind it suggesting someone might be at the back.
Despite Iris and his mother being fond of flowers and gardening in general, Barok never developed an interest in either. The only time he tried to care for a small cactus his niece gifted to him some years back, he managed to kill it by watering it a tad too much. Never again, he thought that day, and he had kept his promise to preserve nature ever since. So the most efficient course of action here would be to just ask for someone to put together a bouquet for him, pay for it and take his leave, no vegetation hurt in the process.
He is seriously considering just heading for the counter when he notices some motion, the rustling of leaves, out of the corner of his eye.
“Hello?” he calls, hesitant.
He receives no response. The store appears as empty as it did a second ago, but curiosity gets the best of him. As he draws closer towards the possible source of the movement, he hears the faint clinking of what he hopes are scissors. Surely a clerk handling supplies, maybe tending to the plants. It’s either that or a mouse taking a stroll among racks, its tiny teeth busy munching on something, or its claws scratching wood.
He turns on a corner overflowing with green stems, and he has to be careful of dipping his head slightly so he doesn’t end up with them wrapped around his neck. That is when he spots a young man crouching on the linoleum floor, facing the lower racks of a shelf, his back to Barok. He has short, black hair, and appears so engrossed in his task that he somehow managed to miss the arrival of a new client.
Barok clears his throat gently to get his attention.
“Excuse me, I need a bouquet,” he says, eyes drifting to the striking orange petals of some flowers on display to his right. “It’s for my niece, so maybe something with pink, if possible.”
Again, the store remains quiet around him. The young man acts as if he hasn’t heard him, the distinctive sound of his pruners barely suggesting he is indeed awake. Barok presses his lips into a thin line, losing his patience, but he can’t blame the clerk if he has earphones on.
Barok is about to come closer and tap his shoulder, when the man puts the pot he is working on back on the shelf, pushing his pruners into the back pocket of his jeans, and comes to a stand. He turns around, only for his brown eyes to come meet Barok’s and widen as if taken aback, his eyebrows going up in surprise as he yelps with a short ‘Ah!’, no doubt the realization that he was not alone dawning on him just now.
Now that Barok can properly see his face, he can’t help but notice the asian man is younger than expected, maybe a college student, or fresh out of it. He has a stained yellow apron over a soft-looking blue shirt with rolled up sleeves. There are no devices in his ears, not an earphone in sight, strangely, and Barok wonders if there might be a language barrier between them. Perhaps he couldn’t understand him, which is a poor excuse for ignoring him altogether, but still.
The boy’s cheeks are dyed red, surely embarrassed for his unintentional impoliteness, but Barok observes him struggle momentarily to straighten his back and put a smile on his face.
Barok waits, but nothing comes. The boy limits himself to stare back at him, as if he is the one expecting something to happen. His brown eyes do betray him once, though, as Barok sees them take a quick glance in the direction of the counter before coming back to him. It might have been a way of silently asking for someone to come help him, but he seems to be on his own for the time being.
Barok does his best not to scowl at him, although he does sigh. He crosses his arms over his chest as he echoes his request.
“As I already said, I need a small bouquet to cheer a young girl up. I’d appreciate it if you could include pink flowers in it.”
Upon that, a small moment passes, and then the boy’s eyes lit up. He nods once energetically, and motions for Barok to follow him down the aisle. The prosecutor does as instructed, but he can’t help but feel like something is bugging him, as if he is missing some piece of information here, for some unknown reason.
He observes intently as the boy puts together some peach colored and light pink carnations. Barok doesn’t protest, since they look lovely on their own, and after seeing the boy bite his lower lip in thought and then apparently come to a decision, they move to the sunflowers. The boy picks a few of them, and then tiny, white filler flowers to complete the arrangement. When he proudly shows the end result to Barok, the prosecutor can’t really find it in him to be irritated anymore. He might not know the first thing about flower language, but he can already tell Iris will love these regardless. The soft colors of pink and white make the vibrant yellow of the sunflowers pop, they redirect the eye to the big, lively protagonists of the bouquet.
So Barok nods, silently expressing his approval. The boy gives him a bright smile in return, and beckons him to head for the counter. He places the bouquet carefully over the wooden surface, rings the service bell twice, and while Barok harbors serious doubts that anyone will come, it doesn’t take long for a feminine voice to come from behind the curtains.
“Ah, welcome!”, it chirps, and then a young lady peeks her head into the store.
She has to be younger than the other clerk, or maybe it’s just that Barok is considerably taller than her, but her heritage is just as evident. Her dark eyes smile up at Barok, and her English holds a little accent to it when she asks him if he found everything he was looking for. When Barok nods and thanks her, she turns to the boy. She calls him “Naruhodo-san”, so Barok figures they are Japanese.
The prosecutor fishes his wallet from his jeans, thinking he can’t waste more time here when Iris is probably on her way to the café, if she is not there already. He wouldn’t want to make her wait, so he types a quick text on his phone to let her know he’s close by.
“You want the stems as short as possible, right?” the girl behind the counter asks. “Since the bouquet has so much pink already, would it be alright if we used another color for the cellophane?”
Barok looks up from his phone to see her handling the flowers with care. He doesn’t really recall mentioning any of this to her, but a single motion of her right hand towards the male clerk is enough for everything to fall into place.
Her fingertips begin at her chin, and then her flat hand comes down and away from her. She is signing ‘thank you’ to him. Barok’s blue eyes come to him then, regarding the boy in a new light, but the pang of guilt he feels is well deserved, he won’t deny that. He feels like a dunce, not to mention he has acted like one.
Naruhodo nods, silent as ever, a swell to his chest that says he is more than happy with himself, and gives Barok a small bow before turning on his heels to most likely go back to work. Barok’s gaze follows him until he disappears through the jungle of plants and shelves, not a useful thought coming to his muted brain.
Luckily, either the young lady doesn’t mind his rude staring or is willing to look past it, because she doesn’t comment on it. She chooses a white wrapper for the bouquet, which now can be held easily by a child as the stems have been chopped off.
“Sunflowers are the closest one can get to gifting sunshine,” she mutters, a tender smile to her lips. “It’s like saying ‘I’m sending sunny thoughts to brighten your day!’”
Naruhodo must have filled her in with his request while he was busy looking at his phone, and since Barok never heard him utter a single word, together with the incident of the boy not reacting to his voice calling for him before, it is more than enough evidence to reach a conclusion. It’s also clear that he shouldn’t ask about it unless he wants to come across as more of an arse, if that is even possible.
The girl hands him the bouquet once it’s done, and Barok can’t believe it’s this beautiful, even if it’s as small and discreet as he wanted it to be. Gifting a flashy arrangement would have felt wrong, especially after this past month, but when Barok looks at these flowers, he can feel warmth flooding his chest.
He gently rejects the change the young lady tries to give him back, so she offers him a wide, delighted smile and an elegant bow.
“Thank you for your patronage. Please come back soon!”
Still in a daze, he gives her a weak nod, and turns to leave. He takes two steps, maybe three, when it occurs to him that he didn’t thank Naruhodo properly. Or, well, in any way at all.
But putting it plainly, he doesn’t think he has the right to face the boy after he was so condescending to him. This is his job, so he probably had to swallow down how much of a rude person Barok was and compel himself to show him a welcoming smile. Barok wouldn’t want to sour his day any further, but he does have the certainty that this bouquet so skillfully put together will make Iris’ brighter. The Lord knows she needs it.
It takes some effort, but he clears his throat as he turns to the young lady behind the counter. She gives her a curious look, but is patient in her silence.
“Please thank him for the flowers in my stead,” he hears himself saying. “They are lovely.”
Barok isn’t sure why, but her expression changes from her polite mask to a childish excitement that suits her age more. She nods enthusiastically.
“Of course.”
“Have you tried my telescope yet?”
“No, Albert, I’ve been rather occupied as of late.”
“I included the manuals and some books on astronomy, so make sure to check them out!”
Truth is, the package remains unopened by the door. Barok has been here for three days and can’t bear the thought of handling yet another box and having to find a place for the contents in this cramped apartment. Not that he didn’t know it would be small beforehand, and it’s not like he thinks it is not enough for a single person to live in, but it has turned out to be a far cry from the kind of life he is used to. Which is what he wanted, yes, but the mess is driving him crazy. He doesn’t have much space to move around with his belongings laying around, and he has tripped way too many times already. At least it keeps him busy, he thinks; the mechanical motions housework requires leaves his mind pleasantly blank, so he usually fills in the silence with the news or some podcast.
“I haven’t been to the rooftop,” Barok mentions nonchalantly as he folds some shirts. Albert’s insistent typing over a keyboard comes from his phone on the bed, the screen showing Barok the still ceiling fan of his friend’s study. “I’ll try my hand at your toy when I have the chance.”
Predictably, Albert scoffs with indignation. He even halts his work and picks up his phone. The screen blurs a little as a result, his friend’s blue eyes and part of his face scowling at the device. Barok tries not to smile at that.
“It’s not a toy , Barok! It was the first telescope I bought when I came to live here, and I’m sure it will be perfect to introduce you to the vast world of unknown mysteries outer space is.”
Barok sighs discreetly, but he knows Albert is just trying to cheer him up in his own way, to get him to do new things. Calling to make him give him a quick house tour was part of that too, and Barok didn’t have the heart —or the energy, at that— to say no. Whatever the case, even if he is not really that interested in astronomy or stargazing, he does feel grateful for having a friend that is willing to check up on him. God knows Barok would never ask for help on his own accord, so he really appreciates Albert’s concern.
He pointedly left his extensive collection of cured wines back home, just so he wouldn’t fall into temptation here, so there isn’t much to do after Albert hangs up. He gathers the empty boxes and the trash into a plastic bag he isn’t sure what to do with, but that he has all the intention of taking outside once he’s had something to eat.
Cooking has never been his forte, but he makes some pasta with the help of the instructions on the back of the package. He doesn’t bother putting much effort into it, though; he sprinkles salt and pepper over the stewpan and cooks some vegetables to go with the noodles. It might not be his family chef’s gourmet cooking, but by the time he is done he doesn’t mind much. It’s not as bland as expected, so he considers this a tiny victory, as pathetic as that is. He’ll order something next time either way.
It's getting a bit chilly, so he puts on an old black jacket before heading for the door, and this time he forces himself to keep the white t-shirt underneath.
One would think the landlady would've told him where to put his trash, but in the only occasion Barok was lucky enough to meet her, the old lady looked distracted most of the time, as if the eyes behind the heavy frames of her glasses would rather focus on a dimensional plane invisible for Barok than on his face. And she hasn't answered his texts, so he supposes he'll have to fend for himself for today.
The bag is not that heavy, seeing it contains nothing but carton and bubble wrap, so he holds it with one hand as he opens the door. The light of the hallway is more than enough for this time of the day, and Barok sighs in guilty relief for expecting otherwise —namely, flickering light bulbs—. The illuminated corridor allows him to recognize the familiar pair of brown eyes and the young man that gawks at him from the door across his apartment, where who allegedly is his neighbor, is about to head out as well.
Barok blinks, as if he is seeing things, and Naruhodo seems just as surprised for half a second, before his lips part into a friendly smile. He is dressed in white this time, in a loose hoodie with ‘Metallica’ plastered in black across his chest, jeans and a messenger bag strapped over it.
The boy waves at him, and Barok has to take a moment to process he is being addressed.
"Good evening," he greets, somehow taking control of his voice, only to chastise himself inwardly soon after.
From what little he knows about this man, it's not like they can hold a conversation. Barok wouldn't be so rude as to ignore him, but maybe doing more than waving back would only achieve to put Naruhodo in a difficult position.
He waits for a reaction with a halted breath, but Naruhodo's eyes drift to the bag in his hand, and his eyebrows go up upon guessing what Barok intends to do with it. He points to the left end of the hallway, and when he makes sure Barok is looking back at his face, he then motions for him to turn right. Barok frowns slightly, but he thinks he is trying to tell him where to find a trash chute.
Slowly, Barok nods. He distinctly remembers the sign for ‘thank you’, as it's very straightforward, not to mention that the young florist lady used it in front of him just the other day, but he doubts Naruhodo will take kindly to him trying and screwing it up. Besides, the young man appeared to be just fine with lip reading, so there is no reason for Barok to make a fool out of himself in such a way. Or to upset his newfound neighbor.
"Thank you," he tells Naruhodo. "I assume we will meet again."
The boy gives him a nod of his own, smile still in place, and waves to say goodbye. He walks away down the hallway, and just like last time, Barok is transfixed as he observes him go until he disappears through the stairwell. He absentmindedly wonders why Naruhodo didn't use the lift instead, and as he turns left to go find where to put his trash, he asks himself what are the odds of living in the same apartment building —let alone floor— than this boy he met at the flower shop some days ago. London can be such a small city sometimes. Be that is it may, Iris is going to be delighted with this coincidence.
He does spot a trash chute, and just as he gets rid of the bag, Barok realizes he hasn't formally introduced himself to Naruhodo.
The lift is broken. It's downright unacceptable, but the damn lady —Barok's patience is running thin at this point— won't pick up her phone. Barok has to carry his groceries up through three flights of stairs as a consequence, which is not fun. Albert laughs either way when he complains later, but he loves mocking Barok, so nothing new there. It's not an impossible task to bring his shopping bags all the way to the flat, not with his physique, but it is an inconvenience, a perfectly avoidable one— if the landlady just. Did her job.
And speaking of which, he has been considering dropping by the gym sooner rather than later, but he finds himself postponing it every time the thought comes up. He doesn't feel like exercising, not really. Admittedly, he is milking the excuse of having moved recently, and he plans to keep doing it for the time being. He doesn't want to deal with people asking him what he has been up to lately. Either way, he does feel his muscles getting stiff every now and then, so it's a matter of time before he yields and drags his feet back.
He doesn't run into his new neighbor again —although one could argue he is the new neighbor here, but semantics aside the point stands— but he got to meet someone else instead, another interesting one, in fact; the blond, foul-mouthed girl bumped into him one day as he came back from a scouting mission on the neighborhood, and she had given him a nasty scowl that left Barok wondering what he had done wrong. Her accent was thick and her speech quick, but Barok wasn't quite ready for the colorful language she used to unkindly advise him to pay attention to where he was going. She was wearing a beanie and a backpack, so maybe she was on her way to school. Barok had bitten back a response and limited himself to apologize.
On another, unrelated note, he noticed his wallet was missing soon after he got home. He didn’t carry much money with him, but it was still humiliating that something like this happened to him —a serving prosecutor— of all people. No rest for the wicked, it would seem.
Aside from that, he hasn't really had the opportunity to chat with other people living in the building, but Barok would be lying if he said he minds. Not really if everyone is as impolite as that girl was, that is for sure. Besides, he has nothing interesting to say either way.
Tonight, he puts on something on Netflix and lets it play in the background as he finally gets to unpack Albert's telescope. The bloody thing is not even in one piece, and there are so many components Barok feels himself getting dizzy before he even begins assembling it. He can manage a phone and a computer because of his job, but he had warned Albert it would take a considerable amount of blood, sweat and tears before he could interact with technology in the same way he did. Clearly, his best friend had decided it was as good a time to start as any.
Barok ponders about abandoning the science project more than once, finding himself getting frustrated with so many diminutive screws and lenses, but giving up would mean leaving all these tiny pieces to lie around for who knows how long, and that is entirely out of the question. The apartment has just enough room for him, but that doesn't make it any less small. In comparison to his standards, at the very least, so he is not about to let these plastic components threaten his life and wellbeing just like the boxes did.
It takes him an hour and a half to figure it out. He then shoves the less-disassembled result into the travel bag it came with —he found a pair of binoculars as well—, and by the time the next chapter of his show is playing on the TV, his minuscule living space is in order again. He just presses the box flat and pushes it under the couch, knowing he'll have to give it back to his best friend eventually, whenever he goes back home.
When is that going to happen is a good question, but he doesn't have the answer just yet. He just came here, so it's a waste of time to mull over something like that. That is what he repeats to himself as he stands up, shoulders tense and neck strained.
On Friday night, he is feeling miserable enough to put the telescope to the test. It's half that and half because of Albert's insistence, but still. Barok lost against his friend and that is the only thing that matters. He does eat some meat today; googles how to make it edible and that's it. He misses his wine.
Iris said she and her mother would like to visit sometime, but he doesn't really know what entertainment they might find in his new lifestyle, seeing it’s so simple and, let’s be honest, rather boring, so he asked his niece to give him more time to adapt himself.
Coming back to the topic at hand, he flips through the pages of the books and magazines Albert sent him. Truth be told, Barok has no idea how to use a device such as a telescope when London is one of the most heavily light-polluted cities in the world. Going to the Royal Observatory in Greenwich would be any sane person’s first option, but Barok is not naive enough to think of his best friend or himself as mentally healthy people. His ‘Your First Steps in Astronomy’ magazine —dear Lord, Albert— says that there are two aspects of light pollution; the glow of artificial light reflecting on clouds, and direct sources of light – street lamps, security lights, car headlamps, and neighboring windows. So basically, if you fail to create your own dark spot by getting rid of the second aspect, the only thing to do is to go as far away from the city as possible.
Barok sighs, because that is not happening, and checks on a weather app if there will be any visibility of the sky anytime today. With that information and Albert’s magazines, he decides to take the binoculars —since they allegedly show you a wide field of view, making it easy to find your way around— and some sky maps with him.
Long story short: it’s an utter waste of time.
It’s surprising —for not mentioning potentially dangerous— when he discovers he can access the roof without needing a key or special permission. There is no place to sit up there, and he has to pretend there isn’t any abandoned beer bottle or trash rolling around. He tries his best to get this over with.
It’s not shocking that he can’t make heads or tails of the sky maps, but some quick research lets him know there are apps for this kind of thing that could make it exponentially easier. The first step in most of the articles he read said he should start by looking at the moon, so he does. There are clouds, just as he was expecting, but he does get a nice glimpse of it either way. He scans for any close lights, but the clouds aren’t making it easy. Maybe he will really need to drive outside of London, because according to his phone, it will pass some time before the city can enjoy a clean sky during nighttime.
It doesn’t take long for him to feel his fingers going numb and his nose cold. He should have gone to the observatory instead. One article did mention having a Plan B was always a bright idea – perhaps a good pub in case of rain or clouds.
Barok makes his way back, but he won’t admit out loud he feels disappointed. He’ll watch some videos and study the maps more carefully so he won’t waste his time this much next chance he gets. If it ever comes, that is.
When he gets to his floor, again making use of the stairs, he spots three familiar silhouettes chatting among each other. The first two he understands why they are here, but the third one is rather… an unpleasant surprise.
As usual, it’s as if the blond man can read his thoughts, or maybe just perceive his annoyance vibrating in the air, because he turns on his heels.
“Ah, Prosecutor van Zieks!” greets Holmes, a wide smile on his face, and with a voice a tad too loud for Barok’s liking.
Barok sighs, defeated, but he still steps up to the small group. The blond rude girl is here too, eyeing him with suspicion —Barok is not about to ask what her problem with him seems to be—, and when his gaze meets Naruhodo’s, the young man smiles and waves good-naturedly at him. Barok gives him a firm nod.
“Good evening,” he says, and it’s an instant deja-vu.
Holmes gives him a curious look.
“Oh, my! Do you happen to know Mr. Naruhodo here?”
Barok pointedly keeps his blue eyes on the detective, crosses his arms over his chest. He thanks Albert for sending him a travel bag to stuff the embarrassing astronomy kit in. It will protect him from Holmes’ nosy nature as long as he doesn’t draw attention to it or attempts to hide it. He’s been in this position before, so he knows by hand the do’s and don'ts of this man.
“We are neighbors now,” he responds curtly.
The young lady raises an eyebrow, skeptical. She doesn’t bother asking him for details, because she nudges Naruhodo’s arm to make sure his eyes go to her.
“You kno’ this posh bloke, ‘Oddo?”
Naruhodo readily nods, signing to her an explanation Barok can’t follow. He feels rather awkward, standing there at a loss when both Holmes and this girl seem to understand what he is saying.
The girl hums, her eyes coming back to the prosecutor. She gives him a not so subtle once over, and after a moment of deep thought, she reluctantly shrugs, as if she isn’t willing to share her conclusions or their nature. Holmes shakes his head, but he is clearly enjoying this, for some reason.
“This lass’ name is Gina Lestrade, and she is studying under Inspector Gregson at Scotland Yard.”
Barok frowns, but he can’t help but regard her in a new light with this information in hand. He didn’t know Inspector Gregson had taken a protegée of sorts, and it being this ill-mannered lady didn’t make much sense either. Regardless, he doesn’t have a reason to voice out his thoughts.
“It is a pleasure, Miss Lestrade,” he tells her, and once that is settled, he turns to question the so-called detective. “Now, would you be so kind as to explain your presence here, Holmes?”
The man barks out a laugh, and Barok has to resist rolling his eyes. With this man, he fails to see what is so funny most of the time. One perk of not going to work was not having to put up with this ridiculous excuse of a consultant, but Barok’s luck has run out, apparently. It’s a shame Mikotoba isn’t around, since he is usually the only one able to keep Holmes in check.
“I was merely escorting the lady back, cross my heart.”
Either heaven does have a little mercy on Barok’s soul or it gets bored of tormenting him, because Holmes says his goodbyes and retreats soon after, claiming crime doesn’t rest. Gina does the same, and after giving Naruhodo a heavy clap on the back that makes the poor boy yelp, she heads for the stairwell. Barok’s guess is that she doesn’t live on this floor, and that she and Holmes had come to say hi to Naruhodo. The nature of their relationship remains unclear, but the last thing Barok wants to do is to expend another thought on Sherlock Holmes.
As he absentmindedly wonders what to make for dinner, his eyes find a pair of brown ones that observe him intently. Barok startles, short of feeling his heart jump in his chest, and he swears inwardly at his own inattentiveness. Naruhodo is still very much here, in front of him, a grin in place.
“Ah, Mr. Naruhodo,” Barok begins, just to fill in the silence.
The boy looks at him in surprise, and it takes a moment for Barok to remember he is not supposed to know his name just yet. He feels heat creeping up his neck, but he hopes it doesn’t go further.
“I, er, the girl behind the counter called you that.”
Naruhodo nods, that explanation seemingly being enough to satiate him.
This is something Barok is noticing just now, but Naruhodo is always smiling. His smile got wider when he addressed him directly earlier. He was smiling back at the flower shop, just like he was a few days ago outside of his flat, and even during his conversation with Gina and Holmes earlier. Perhaps he does it to show he is paying attention.
Barok racks his brain in search of something to say, and for some unknown reason a goodbye is not an option. Maybe he just doesn’t want to go just yet, an inopportune voice supplies, but Barok doesn’t pay any heed to it. Instead, his gaze drops to the black bag with the binoculars, and while the thought of mentioning his activities prior to this encounter crosses his mind, he discards it immediately.
Fortunately, another idea comes his way. He takes his phone out and looks for the photo Iris sent him that day he gave her the flowers, the one he himself took of her holding her gift. When he finds it, he holds the device closer to Naruhodo, who appears a tad confused, but interested nonetheless.
“My niece found your arrangement captivating,” Barok comments, uselessly, because Naruhodo is not looking at him. Once again, he feels like an arse, but he swallows back the need to apologize and keeps his mouth shut.
The young man must recognize the bouquet, because his face lights up upon the sight of it, and he looks up to Barok, eyebrows raised. He looks like he is expecting Barok to elaborate, but strangely, the prosecutor finds himself at a loss for words. Naruhodo’s face reminds him of the expression the florist lady had back then.
He feels a pull at the corner of his lips, for some reason.
“They did brighten her day. Thank you.”
Naruhodo’s cheeks blush pink. He blinks rapidly, and then he reaches for his nape, clearly pleased with the compliment. Maybe the other florist never passed Barok’s message along? Whatever the case, it is only natural that Naruhodo feels proud of his work and talent, although he seems genuinely bashful as well. This smile is different from the others the prosecutor has seen on him, and it suits him better, he decides. The little dimple on his left cheek suits him better.
Inexplicably, Barok has to clear his throat to stop that train of thought.
“I believe I haven’t introduced myself yet,” he says, lowering his phone. “My name is Barok van Zieks.”
Naruhodo leans in slightly, a crease to his brow that wasn’t there before. He didn’t understand what he just said. Barok brings his free hand to his own chest.
“Barok.”
The boy tilts his head, and makes a circular motion with a finger, as if asking for him to say it again. So Barok does, twice, but to no avail. Naruhodo appears a bit ashamed of this, and the prosecutor can’t have that. He pats his pockets for something to write on, and he feels a tad silly when he remembers his phone can be used for that. He holds a long finger up to ask Naruhodo to wait.
He types his full name in the notes app, and shows the screen to the young man. Naruhodo’s mouth makes a perfect O, likely linking the name to the shape of Barok’s lips earlier. He nods, regaining a quite relieved smile.
He follows Barok’s lead and, plucking his own phone from his pocket, he types something in. The prosecutor finds himself waiting eagerly, even if he already knows one of the names that will be written there.
Ryuunosuke Naruhodo, is what he reads on the screen.
“It’s truly a pleasure,” Barok says, and he is delightfully surprised to find that he means it.
Naruhodo nods energetically, giving Barok the chance to get a glimpse of his genuine smile once more.
Somehow, this past week doesn’t feel like an entire misstep anymore.