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Contrary to his friends’ belief, Kiyoomi doesn’t hate Valentines. He hates the overexaggeration of romance in the guise of gift giving and public declarations—grand yet hollow, all but for show. Call him old-fashioned, but Kiyoomi believes loved ones should be cherished through the simplest gestures everyday. Words of fondness carry more meaning when exchanged between the harborer and the object of their affection, not broadcasted over a lengthy, overly glamorized social media post for the whole world to skim through and judge, then scroll past thoughtlessly. Soft touches and whispers of endearment shared between lovers, like a secret language only they can decipher.
But, alas, people have fallen trap to extravagant trends of capitalism more and more each year, crowds gathering in shops and restaurants governed by the social pressure of posting about it online, all the more if it involves one’s love life. Pics or it didn’t happen seems to be the tagline of this century. February 14th is a classic example of this fanfare.
“Ah- Sorry mister!” A pair of high school girls bumps into Kiyoomi as they scurry over to the shop’s exit, eyes fixated on the panorama of heart-shaped boxes adorned in pink and purple bows across the street. As if the chocolates have feet and would saunter somewhere. Kids these days, goddammit.
“Tch,” Kiyoomi’s resting scowl deepens, making the girls shiver and bow down profusely in apology.
“Kiyo-chan, stop scaring them!” Oikawa chides him with a light pinch to his side before he starts tugging him by the elbow.
“Don’t mind him, sweeties,” Suga trails a few steps behind and nudges Kiyoomi inside, quick to follow Oikawa’s rescue. “This guy’s the Valentine’s Grinch.”
The young girls giggle then excuse themselves as they make their merry way to the next store.
“Really, Kiyo-chan? Picking a fight with high schoolers now? Auntie raised you better than that.”
Kiyoomi merely rolls his eyes, unrepentant.
“Tooru~” Suga overtakes him and wraps his arms around Oikawa’s waist, resting his chin on Oikawa’s shoulder on tippy toes. “How about we leave this little brat behind and finish shopping, just us two?”
“I’m taller than you-” Kiyoomi tries to counter-argue but he’s blatantly ignored.
“Aw, babe. You know I want to, but I already promised onee-san we’d take him out for a walk today even if it means dragging him out of the house.”
“The fuck? I’m not a dog.”
“Poor Kira-chan worries this big baby would turn into a full fledged shut-in if he stayed holed up in his room for another day,” Oikawa fake cries, arms draped dramatically over his head. “Don’t worry, I’ll make it up to you tomorrow.” A promise, sealed with a sweet kiss on Suga’s temple, right above his beauty mark.
Kiyoomi begrudgingly groans at the sight of affection. “Just hurry up and grab what you need already. It isn’t Christmas, I don’t understand why you’re buying a bunch of presents for your friends, your family, even mine—literally everyone .”
“Eh, Valentine’s Day isn’t only for lovers!”
“Yeah,” Suga is quick to agree. “And unlike you, Mr. Grinch, Tooru and I love love . We’ll take any excuse to celebrate it.”
“We sure will, babe,” Oikawa wiggles his eyebrows funnily. “Now come on, Kiyo-chan. Stick close and we might be able to help Cupid aim better at you.”
A disgruntled noise rumbles from Kiyoomi’s throat. “But we’ve gone through every shop in the district, do you still really want flowers?”
“Yes, I do! I always want flowers!” Oikawa announces with passion.
Before Kiyoomi could huff out a rebuttal, a soft chuckle interrupts their debate. “Me too.”
Three heads turn to the source of the sound of amusement.
Kiyoomi had meant to glare at the eavesdropping party but immediately loses all the fight in his body when his dark gaze meets a pair of amber—eyes with the deep hue of autumn and the warmth of summer.
“Ah, sorry,” the stranger laughs sheepishly. Not a stranger—a staff, maybe? He’s wearing a French blue apron with a front pocket like a kangaroo’s and the shop’s dainty logo on the left side of his chest. “I noticed you were picking out a couple of bouquets…” Kiyoomi sees his mouth moving but doesn’t hear what he's saying, distracted by the specks of gold dusting his nose and the apples of his cheeks. Huh. Since when did he find freckles so beautiful, Kiyoomi wonders. Like kiss marks from the sun tattooed on tanned skin. Kiyoomi is dumbfounded at the realization he wishes to leave some of his own.
Tiny claw clips hold soft locks behind his ear, the daisy pattern complementing his pale blonde hair.
“Would ya like to see our catalog? We do custom arrangements and mini baskets if that’s what ya like.”
An accent too? Oh, Kiyoomi is helplessly charmed and utterly damned.
He tries his best to school his expression, but of course his gay panic doesn’t escape his friends. Oikawa and Suga share knowing looks, already plotting a scheme through their shared telepathy.
“Oh, that would be wonderful! Uhm… Atsumu-kun?” Suga eyes on his nametag.
“At your service!”
“Atsu-chan!” Oikawa coos. “I’m Tooru. This pretty babe is Koushi and that grouchy old man chucking a tantrum is Kiyo-chan.”
“I’m-!” his voice comes out a little high-pitched, startling Atsumu. Cute. Kiyoomi swallows his heart back and clears his throat, recovering his cool. “It’s Kiyoomi.”
“Nice to meetcha!” the blonde chirps. “Well, then, how about you guys wait at the seating area while I grab our digital portfolio for ya?”
Kiyoomi harshly refuted being a pet just a few minutes ago, but he looks like he’s willing to bark and wag his tail and perform tricks with the way he eagerly trails Atsumu.
Oh, well.
After placing their orders, Atsumu deftly wraps four sets of bouquets in fine parchment, all ten fingers tucking each stem with care and binding them in a twine. “Anything else I could help ya with?”
“Actually, sweetheart, there is,” a lightbulb flashes above Oikawa’s head, and he’s hit by the most brilliant idea he’s sure Suga would easily catch onto. “Are you seeing anyone right now?”
“Seeing, as in ghosts or as in dating?”
Suga snorts an ugly laugh. “You’re funny. Tooru, can we keep him?”
Kiyoomi lets out an animalistic groan. He won’t bite. Unless?
“Easy, boy,” Oikawa tuts at him, shielding Suga protectively. “I meant as in dating of course,” he gestures with pinchy fingers, barely stopping himself from truly nipping Atsumu’s cheeks.
“Uhm, no,” Atsumu replies, completely oblivious. “I’m too busy tending to my garden, apparently.”
Kiyoomi’s lips twitch in bitterness at the implication. Must’ve been an ex or something. And yet he lets out a soundless breath he didn’t realize he was holding, wholly relieved.
“What time does your shift end?”
“Supposedly in half an hour,” Atsumu continues to indulge his questions, albeit slightly bewildered. “But we’re a bit short-handed because of the 13th rush so I’m gonna cleanup and run over inventories until Kita-san comes back from making deliveries.”
“Perfect!” Oikawa clasps his hands together. “The truth is, this guy right here loves cleaning and organizing stuff. And he just so happens to be bored to death so how about you make him useful and let him carry heavy boxes for you?”
“What, no! We can’t possibly ask a customer to do that! I don't think Kita-san is hiring part-timers right now either…”
“Don’t worry your pretty little head. Kiyo-chan would be more than happy to do it for free.”
To his side, Kiyoomi nods profusely. Suga buries his face on Oikawa’s back to hold back his laughter. He’s turned docile all of a sudden, like a wild dog transformed into a cute puppy desperate for treats.
Oikawa and Suga could take a good guess as to exactly why.
“Here, why don’t we all exchange numbers? I have a feeling we’ll see you more often,” Oikawa smirks. “Please, Atsu-chan?
“Well, if ya insist… I could use a lot of help tidying up the studio,” Atsumu fiddles with a loose curl on the back of his head, suddenly conscious of Kiyoomi’s quiet but determined gaze upon him.
“Mhm, that should be quick enough if we divide and conquer,” Kiyoomi rubs the back of his neck as he closes the distance between them, a boyish grin on his face. “Maybe we can drop by the food stalls at the next block after?”
“I’d like that,” Atsumu replies, cheeks tinged light peach.
Oikawa and Suga take that as their cue to leave.
Mission accomplished.
When Atsumu comes out to meet Kiyoomi at the patio behind the flower shop later that night, he’s wearing a baby pink striped shirt that bares his collarbones, a coy smile that makes Kiyoomi’s stomach flutter. Kiyoomi wants nothing else but to poke the dimples on his cheeks at that moment, but he restrains himself. For now. He solemnly vows to himself he’ll do everything in his power to keep that smile on Atsumu’s face.
And if Kiyoomi turns into the stereotypical lover boy he’d been brutally scrutinizing in the years that follow, he blames it on stupid Cupid for shooting an arrow through his chest, heart melting like caramel candy into the shape of one darling Miya Atsumu.