Work Text:
Ibuki takes one look at her – the shy, timid, girl with the choppy hair and the tattoo of a thorny rose curling up her arm – and decides that this girl is special. It’s currently undecided why exactly this is, but she knows (Ibuki can feel it in her bones) that this is true.
In fact, she’s so sure of this girl’s specialness that she immediately shouts it out, finger pointing out the window at said girl as her co-worker, Hajime, shushes her.
The girl loiters for a moment, pulling a pastel pink cardigan over her shoulders, effectively shielding the intricate tattoo from sight. Her long lashes make way for earthy brown eyes, as she lowers herself, peering into the flower shop window before glancing at her watch and scurrying off. She seems to not have noticed the exchange within, but if Ibuki didn’t blink, she thinks that the other girl had made eye contact (oh my god! Eye contact is the first sign of every relationship!) with her.
It may not have been much, but it’s enough for cupid’s arrow to shoot Ibuki right through the heart.
“She is beauty, she is grace,” Ibuki says a little bit softer (meaning she was still using her outdoor voice, but at least it wasn’t her concert voice), after Hajime had busied himself with the flowerpots out the front. Momentarily distracted, because she could do so much more when she’s not under Hajime’s watchful eye, she looks around the shop quickly.
“She’s so beautiful Ibuki could write an entire love song album while clutching her pretty hands and screaming in agony,” she reiterates, just to keep him off her back for another second or so. But what she’s saying is true, anyway. It’s not like Ibuki’s any good at lying. She stifles a laugh when she sees Hajime just shaking his head.
Her eyes dart to the radio, wondering if he’d notice if she switched the music to something more … upbeat. Loud, even. Something to dance to. Like one of Ibuki’s own songs! That would be fun! Would she risk it? Hajime suddenly sends her a look as if he knows exactly what she’s thinking. Dammit.
“Get back to work and don’t touch the music,” he calls. “You can think about your impossibly random crush later. When you don’t have flower arranging to do.”
“Gaaaaaah, you work Ibuki so hard, you big, spiky nugget!” She complains, seizing a roll of ribbon from beneath the counter to do just as she was asked. Pulling herself together ever so slowly, the florist works on tying bows around the tiny bouquets she has chosen to make, sighing in that dramatic lovesick way that she knows will catch Hajime’s attention. “Hey, hey, did you know? Ibuki has seen the light! She’s Ibuki’s new golden girl.”
“You don’t even know her.” He points out, rolling his eyes. The perfectionist in him comes alive as he bobs up and down trying to gauge the balance between the display he’s just put up. His eyebrows are furrowed, and his hands are running through his trademark spiky hair. “That’s no foundation for a claim like that.”
“I know she’s beautiful!” Ibuki retorts, hands on her hips.
Her co-worker doesn’t dignify her with a reply.
But Ibuki doesn’t stop – won’t stop – talking, as she makes one big decision.
She is going to find her golden girl, and she is going to declare her undying love for her, and they’re going to get married straight away.
“I know you’re thinking of doing something stupid,” Hajime abruptly speaks up, trudging back towards the main counter, clearly unsatisfied with his work and returning for supplies to fix it. She sits a little straighter, pulling a face at him. He then raises his pointer finger, and flicks Ibuki in the forehead. “Here’s my advice for you: don’t.”
“But Hajime,” she whines, scrunching her eyes shut. “You don’t understand! A golden girl is a once in a lifetime opportunity! Ibuki can’t let this go!”
“She didn’t even come into the store!” He says incredulously, raising his arms.
“It’s love at first sight!”
“Ibuki.” Hajime states sternly.
“Hajime.” She replies with equal sternness.
He gives her a long, withering look. “You’re not in love with someone you’ve never met, who literally just passed by our store.”
“I am.”
“No, you’re not.”
“We’re destined for each other,” she clutches her chest. “Ibuki will never forget this day! When destiny was kind enough to show her the truth in her heart!”
“Ibuki, you’re being ridiculous.”
She bangs her fist on the counter, as if deeply offended. She’s not, and Hajime knows this, but they like to banter a little, sometimes. It’s simply a strange, yet comforting factor of their friendship. “Ibuki is chasing her dreams, thank you very much, mister rude hair!”
“Hey! What’s rude about my hair?”
“Everything! Any more spiky and it could kill a man!”
“Oi!”
And maybe they leave it like that for now, but Ibuki doesn’t forget about it – no, she does not. She thinks about Hajime’s terribly spiky hair (she always does! How the heck did he get it like that? Even her own hair horns don’t have that much flair!) and how much the extra height to his head stands in the way of her freedom.
She also thinks about that tiny glimpse she got of her golden girl; of perfect eyebrows, beauty marks and of dark eye shadow and lips the shocking color of blood – and she falls in love over and over again.
She always knew she fell fast, but this was an all-time record.
(“What was it? 3 seconds?” Hajime had asked doubtfully. “That’s barely a glance. Let alone call it ‘love’!”)
(“It’s love when Ibuki says it’s love!” She had then replied.)
It’s thrilling, just the way she likes it, and she needs the special girl’s name. She wants to know who she is, and what she does and where she comes from. She wants to spend forever with this stranger, who looks more dangerous than at first glance – looks more of a puzzle than her pastel goth image implies.
Thinking about her, Ibuki’s on her feet for the rest of her shift, eager to zoom out and pursue – run after the girl of her dreams! But alas; tall, brown and spiky stands in her way, and she must work with the flowers that she loves until she’s let off into the wild, and allowed time for her mission to be executed.
When the clock chimes 6, and they’re closing up, Ibuki’s made her decision well and clear. She will indeed find her golden girl, and confess her deep and fated love, but er, maybe leave the marriage proposal ‘til later. She may or may not need to buy a ring for that occasion first.
So she waves goodbye to her dear co-worker, and goes.
(But not before Hajime chips in with his great and otherworldly lecture, supposedly masquerading as advice.)
“Don’t scare her!” He says while crossing his arms. “You’ve got low chances of finding her again in the first place – especially in this massive city – but if on the off-chance you do, please, for the love of god, don’t scare her. We don’t need to lose business because of your pursuits in romance, you know.”
“Roger that, captain!” And Ibuki grabs her bag and runs. And keeps running. She runs up a hill and over. Around the bend. Through the park. Down a lonely road. Up an avenue, and across an intersection. And then she stops.
She has no idea where she’s going.
“This is… a lot harder than Ibuki thought it would be.” She mumbles, brushing her multicolored hair from her face. A strand catches on her ear cuff and she groans, flopping onto a conveniently parked bench just to take her time freeing it.
It’s at that time that fate (she knew it! Ibuki knew there was a higher being behind it all! How else would this whole ‘love at first sight’ shindig work? She never believed in that stuff anyway!) finally kicks in.
She needs to turn her head to untangle her hair from her ear piece, and on the turn her magenta gaze catches onto something particularly interesting. A tattoo parlor.
But it’s not just any tattoo parlor.
Because through the window, reaching up to wipe the highest point, with soap suds running down pale slender arms, is the (admittedly spontaneous) love of Ibuki’s life. She springs up, not caring that her hair is a mess, and makes her way to the parlor with renewed vigor.
“Hellooooo, one and all! But mostly one!” Ibuki greets, barging through the glass doors and scaring the other girl right out of her cleaning, sending her toppling to the floor. The sponge flies into the air and lands on her head, just like icing on a cake. She squeaks, but luckily does not burst into tears, and Ibuki thinks they’ve gotten off to a great start.
“Ah, wha – I, um, s-sorry, I … !” Her darling stammers as she extracts the sponge from her hair, placing it back into the bucket. Which she knocks over when she tries to get up. “Oh no, I’m sorry! I’m so clumsy, and horrible at everything, I’m really sorry –!”
“No, no, no! You’re perfect, don’t worry!” As Ibuki says this, the girl trips over the rolling bucket, maybe out of shock. The florist winces, and sends her an apologetic smile. “Also sorry about the scare! Ibuki’s been told she’s a little loud, but oh, don’t worry! She can try and reign it in when the situation calls for it!”
“W-when the situation…?” The other finally stands steady on her feet, and her nametag flashes the word ‘Mikan’, having Ibuki silently squeal in joy. She finally has a name for that beautiful face! Mikan still seems very jittery, however, and bows quickly for no apparent reason. “Oh, don’t – don’t mind me! I’m being nosy, I’m sorry…! Did you come in to get a tattoo done or …? W-wait, what a stupid question! I’m sorry I’m so stupid! Why else would you come t-to a tattoo parlor? Please forgive me for troubling you!”
“Actually no!” Ibuki chirps, striking a pose. “I’m here for you!”
“M-m-me?!”
“That’s right! Right on the money! My name is Ibuki Mioda and I’m in love with you!”
“H-huuuuuuh?!”
… in hindsight, that meeting could have gone a whole lot better.
But after explaining herself, Ibuki does in fact end up getting a tattoo anyway. It may or may not have been because Mikan shakily revealed that she was the tattooist (who could resist? They could get like, matching tattoos or something!), but all that aside, the whole process actually goes pleasantly well.
Tattooing seems to be Mikan’s specialty. The inking needle is precise and doesn’t waver once – despite the artist’s known-to-be shaky, rather klutzy personality. She doesn’t talk much, biting her lip hard in concentration. But Ibuki doesn’t mind.
It gives her good time to watch her darling work, and even though she got rejected, she didn’t feel the sting at all.
(“I-I’m really, really sorry,” Mikan had answered, hands waving about and a fresh wave of pink in her complexion. “I don’t know you very well, and – and I don’t think you’d want to be with somebody l-like me, anyway… so… um…”)
(“Please believe in Ibuki!” She had, for whatever reason, saluted. “It’s a big surprise, right? The world is never too big for surprises! So please believe in what Ibuki is saying!”)
(“I’m sure you-you’re a lovely person, and for your forgiveness, I’ll do anything you want…! But l-love me…? That’s definitely… definitely … wrong…”)
(“Why? ‘Cause Ibuki’s a girl?”)
(“N-no, of course not! Be-because I’m… well, I’m just me…”)
(“And I love you for you!”)
(“P-please forgive me…!”)
It’s true, when she says she doesn’t feel the sting. Only the sting on her skin, but that’s a different story altogether.
It doesn’t make Mikan any less special, or Ibuki any less in love.
But maybe she does need to take it back a notch, and you know, follow the wise Hajime’s advice.
“D-does this hurt?” Mikan asks, tracing the final curve of black on the inside of Ibuki’s wrist. It does hurt, but Ibuki shakes her head.
“You’re doing an awesome job,” She grins, using her other hand to give her a big thumbs up.
The tattooist smiles gently, and it seems to light up her entire face. Ibuki feels her heart skip.
Mikan is sweet, Ibuki decides. And she may have been different from expected – really? Dangerous? Not this girl, certainly not! – but she’s no less captured the florist’s interest and she intends to keep it that way.
As she’s paying for the tiny thorny rose newly etched into her skin, she catches a shy, “Please… come back tomorrow so I can make sure nothing’s gone wrong. It should be fine, but… I like to follow up on my – my clients, so if you would please…?”
And Ibuki’s only reaction is to nod vigorously.
“Yeah – definitely! You can count on it!”
She’d have to work for her golden girl, but she’s okay with that.
It gives her more time to plan their wedding anyway.