Work Text:
The morning breeze carried with it a fresh fragrance, lightly sweet on the air. On the corner of the main street, just before the station, stood a small shop that stood out against the gray buildings around it. Painted in a soft mint green with touches of pastel pink and white, the wooden door bore a hand-decorated sign filled with pastel shades and tiny handmade flowers. It read: «Kanroji Gardening.»
Inside that lovely little store, flowers of every color were arranged neatly on wooden shelves. Some rested in buckets of water, others in clay pots. Everything seemed placed with a kind of loving care.
Mitsuri, the owner, with hair as soft and colorful as spun sugar, moved from one end of the shop to the other, humming a gentle tune. She was arranging a bouquet of lilacs and white roses for a patient customer. Her cheeks glowed with the same warmth as her smile. For her, each day in the shop was a gift. She loved listening to customers’ requests, recommending flowers, and above all, explaining their meanings.
She adored when flowers were given with intention—especially when that intention was love.
"Lilacs mean 'first love', did you know that, sir?" Her cheerful tone matched the pink satin ribbon she tied around the bouquet. "And the white rose stands for purity of the soul. It’s a beautiful message. Very romantic. Your partner must feel very lucky."
To her, flowers were a secret language—a way of speaking the words that often went unsaid.
That same day, a man walked with his hands in his pockets. Iguro Obanai had spent most of his morning reviewing old books for a demanding client. The scent of dust and parchment still clung to him. He didn’t mind; it was his routine. Routines kept him safe from the discomfort of dealing with people.
But as he turned that corner, something caught his attention.
A laugh. Soft and sweet, drifting from the flower shop.
Obanai wasn’t the type to pause over such things—certainly not someone else’s laughter. But this laugh… it made him glance toward the shop, and there she was: the source of the sound. Behind the counter stood a girl with the most unusual hair he had ever seen, bright pink fading into green at the tips. Sleeves rolled up, arranging a bouquet, she was so full of life that just one look left him spellbound.
Obanai froze, his heart giving a sudden lurch he had never known before. He tried to ignore it—he failed. His feet betrayed him, carrying him toward the door.
The bell chimed as he stepped inside.
Mitsuri looked up and welcomed him with a smile so natural that Obanai felt the air leave his lungs.
"Welcome!" she greeted with enthusiasm. "Are you looking for something special today?"
He swallowed hard. In truth, he wasn’t looking for anything. He knew nothing about flowers. He should have turned and left—but those eyes, full of warmth, stopped him.
"…A flower. Any flower. It doesn’t matter." His voice came out low and rough, like he was on autopilot.
Mitsuri tilted her head, surprised, but her face quickly brightened as she tried to make him comfortable.
"Perfect! Let’s see what I can offer you." she said, spinning lightly on her heels toward one of the shelves.
Her hands brushed carefully over stems and petals until they stopped on a simple yet elegant white flower. She snipped it gently, wrapped it in soft blue paper, and handed it to him with a smile.
"A white camellia. Its meaning is 'you are adorable'. It’s one of my favorites to give when someone’s buying a flower for the first time. It carries such tender affection. I hope you like it."
He fell silent, staring at her. You are adorable. The phrase echoed in his head with startling force. His gaze dropped quickly, his face faintly flushed.
He paid in haste, muttering a nearly inaudible "thank you." before rushing out.
Mitsuri, on the other hand, simply waved and called after him with cheerful sweetness: "Please come again soon!"
Once alone, after a few minutes of walking, Obanai stopped. He looked at the flower in his hand. He didn’t know why he had bought it. He didn’t know why he had gone inside at all. But the light weight of the camellia in his palm made him feel… different. Strange. His chest felt alive, his heart pounding.
And though he didn’t know it yet—he would return. Again, and again.
The sound of the bell over the door soon became familiar. Mitsuri, who was used to seeing new faces every day for all kinds of occasions, wasn’t accustomed to someone returning so often. It almost made her feel sorry for him.
But there he was.
The man with the serious gaze, dark hair, and a thin scar running across his mouth like a stitched thread. He always entered quietly, always asked for the same thing.
Not a bouquet. Not a pot. Just one flower.
The first day had been a white camellia. Mitsuri hadn’t expected him to come back—he didn’t seem the type to care for flowers. But the next day, he returned.
"Another flower… please. Something with a meaning of love." His voice was low, nearly a shy murmur.
Mitsuri was taken aback, though she didn’t let it show. She wandered between the shelves until her fingers stopped on a red tulip.
"The red tulip means a 'declaration of love." she explained, smiling as she handed it to him. "It’s very straightforward, don’t you think?"
He took the flower without a word, his face unreadable. But Mitsuri noticed the way his grip tightened slightly on the stem.
And so, the days became a routine.
On the third day, she gave him a pink carnation: I will never forget you.
On the fourth, a blue hyacinth: constancy.
On the fifth, a yellow rose: shared joy.
Each time, he listened intently as she explained the meaning, even though he kept his head lowered and never lingered.
Weeks passed, and Mitsuri found herself curious. Who were these flowers for? A girlfriend? A secret love? Or was he secretly a flower enthusiast?
As she arranged pots in the display window, she wondered, It must be someone very special, to bring flowers every single day. Whoever it is, they must be so happy receiving them.
And yet… the curiosity wouldn’t leave her.
One rainy afternoon, as water pattered against the shop windows, Obanai entered once more. Mitsuri greeted him with her usual warmth, though inside the question burned.
"Another flower?" she asked kindly. She hadn’t had many customers that day, but his constant visits always brightened her mood.
He nodded, murmuring something about loyalty. Mitsuri quickly chose a violet—one she had set aside for him without admitting it to herself.
"Violets mean 'faithfulness'. I love them because they’re simple, but steadfast in what they express." Her smile shone as she handed him the flower. "You always come for a single bloom—it’s so constant, so admirable. It makes me happy that people like you exist, sir."
Obanai stiffened. For a moment, Mitsuri thought she had overstepped. Embarrassed, she lowered her gaze and fiddled with the ribbon.
"Whoever you’re giving them to… must understand perfectly what you’re trying to say. That person must feel very lucky."
She said it lightly, but inside, a strange knot tightened in her chest.
He didn’t answer. He simply took the violet, paid, and stepped out into the rain—without an umbrella.
Mitsuri watched the door close behind him, the bell’s chime lingering in the air. She pressed a hand to her chest, startled by how quickly her heart was racing. That person must be very lucky, she thought again. But imagining it brought a faint ache.
She didn’t want to meddle. But the language of flowers was too transparent for her to ignore. That kind of dedication could only mean one thing: love.
A love that seemed to grow stronger every day.
The seasons themselves seemed to move faster since that peculiar customer began visiting. For Mitsuri, every chime of the bell was a spark of hope. She wouldn’t say it aloud, but her heart always beat a little faster when he stepped through the door.
He wasn’t a stranger anymore. Not now that she knew his name.
Her best friend, Shinobu, knew him and had told her: Iguro Obanai. Just knowing they had a mutual friend made Mitsuri feel a flicker of hope that they could grow closer.
Now he was Iguro-san, the quiet man with the scar, who appeared every afternoon with the same request.
At first, she’d thought it strange. Now, it only fueled her curiosity.
That day, Mitsuri was arranging a small batch of white daisies. The shop smelled fresh, the morning rain still lingering in the air. When the bell chimed, she turned with a bright smile.
"Welcome, Iguro-san!" she greeted warmly. "Another flower?"
He froze. He had never told her his name. Hearing it from her lips nearly made him lose his composure.
He nodded quickly, mumbling something about love again, though his face was faintly flushed. Mitsuri picked a daisy from the bunch.
"A white daisy means 'innocence', but also 'loyal love'. To me, it carries a feeling of peace."
Obanai accepted the flower as usual, silent. But Mitsuri noticed how his fingers lingered just a bit longer on the stem.
"By the way, I know your name because a friend told me—please don’t think I’m some kind of stalker. Shinobu. She added quickly, embarrassed. She didn’t want to lose her most loyal customer over a careless comment."
"Ah, don’t worry, miss. It’s fine. I don’t mind.'
Their hearts beat in unison, quickened by that brief exchange. It was short, but it was their first real conversation.
Days passed, and Mitsuri began to see a clear pattern in his choices.
A red rose: true love, lasting passion.
A red chrysanthemum: I love you.
A blue hydrangea: gratitude for being understood.
Each bloom was like another chapter in a silent story he was writing.
This can’t be a coincidence, Mitsuri thought as she tied silk ribbons around stems. These are too specific. All of them point to the same thing… is he trying to confess, but can’t with words?
And then, as always, the knot returned: Who is that special person?
One evening, as the sun bathed the shop in golden light, Obanai came as usual. Mitsuri, looking up from her phone behind the counter, greeted him with her brightest smile.
"Today, I want to offer you something myself." she said, moving to a vase of pink lilies.
She picked one carefully and wrapped it as she spoke:
"Pink lilies mean 'prosperity and abundance', but they can also be read as a wish for 'lasting happiness'. This one’s from me, to you."
Obanai accepted it silently, though Mitsuri caught the faint blush coloring his cheeks, just visible beneath his hair, before he slipped quickly out the door.
Something sparked inside her then. A sudden intuition.
She remembered a brief conversation with Shinobu, the same day she learned his name. Her friend had hinted that maybe the flowers weren’t for anyone else at all. Mitsuri had laughed it off at the time, too giddy just to know his name.
But what if…? What if he isn’t giving them to anyone? What if… they’re for me?
The thought hit her so hard her face grew hot. She shook her head, scolding herself silently. She shouldn’t get carried away. She was only a florist. He was just a reserved customer.
And yet… the doubt had been planted.
That night, as she closed the shop, Mitsuri couldn’t stop replaying every glance, every flower, every meaning.
The idea that it might all be meant for her made her blush like a schoolgirl. And it scared her too.
No, I mustn’t misinterpret, she whispered to herself as she switched off the lights. But her heart—traitorous heart—wouldn’t listen.
Meanwhile, in his own apartment, Obanai carefully placed the pink lily inside a thick notebook where all the other flowers lay pressed and preserved. Beneath each one, he had written its meaning in a steady, elegant hand.
He closed the book gently, resting his palm on the cover with quiet affection.
"Someday… you’ll understand. Someday, I’ll have the courage."
Sunday was one of the few days Mitsuri could close the shop a little earlier. Though she always felt a pang of guilt leaving the flowers alone, that afternoon she decided to visit the open-air market that was held every weekend.
The place was alive: voices mingling, the aroma of freshly baked bread, ripe fruits spilling color across the stalls, children running about. Mitsuri adored this kind of atmosphere.
As she walked with a wicker basket in her arms, she stopped at a candy stall, fascinated by the variety of bright-colored sweets.
And then she saw him.
Amidst the crowd, standing at a bookstall, was Obanai. His golden eyes drifted over the pages. He held no flowers in his hands, nor did he wear his usual stern expression—he looked calmer, almost at peace.
Mitsuri hesitated. She could have walked past, pretended not to notice. But something inside urged her forward.
"Iguro-san!" she called, with the same warmth she always used to greet him at the shop.
He looked up, startled, and for a brief moment seemed uneasy, like a cat caught out of hiding. But he quickly gave a small nod, closing the book and setting it aside.
"Kanroji-san."
It was the first time he had ever called her by name. She knew he probably had read it off the little cat-shaped tag pinned to her chest, yet hearing it from him made her cheeks warm.
They met in front of the stall, surrounded by the hum of voices. Mitsuri held her basket with both hands, smiling shyly.
"I didn’t expect to see you here. I always imagine you surrounded by… well, flowers." She laughed at herself.
Obanai arched a brow.
"I don’t come often. Only when I want to look for a rare book."
"You like old books?" she asked, genuinely curious.
He nodded.
"I restore them." He hesitated, unsure whether to add more, but upon seeing the interest in Mitsuri’s eyes, he continued: "I like to think I give the writers’ art back to them. It’s a very special craft to me."
Mitsuri fell quiet for a moment, struck by his words.
"That’s… beautiful, Iguro-san." She smiled tenderly. "It’s like how I feel with flowers. Each one has a voice, a meaning. I like to think I help them say what they want to express."
For the first time, Obanai didn’t look away. He held her gaze firmly. His lips curved—just barely—into a smile, and Mitsuri swore it was the most beautiful smile she had ever seen.
They continued walking through the market together. At first, in silence. But little by little, the awkwardness softened into a calm companionship. Mitsuri talked about the stalls, about how wonderful it was to see so many things gathered together. Obanai listened, replying in short phrases.
"Do you like sweets?" she asked as they passed a confectionery stand.
He nodded quickly.
"Anise."
Mitsuri laughed softly.
"What a coincidence! I prefer cherry ones, but anise reminds me of my grandfather. He always kept one in his pocket for me."
They walked on. Mitsuri bought a small bundle of dried lavender at an herb stall.
"Lavender means 'serenity'. I think it will help me on nights when I think too much."
Obanai observed the lavender in silence. Then, in a low murmur, he said,
"You… always think in meanings, don’t you?"
"Yes." Mitsuri blushed faintly. "I suppose I like to believe even things have something important to tell us."
He only nodded, gazing at her with quiet adoration. He had never imagined being in a moment like this—and he couldn’t have cherished it more.
Their walk went on, short words scattered between comfortable silences.
They stopped at a bench in the plaza, beneath a cherry blossom tree heavy with blooms. Mitsuri set her basket on her lap and turned to him.
"Iguro-san…" she began hesitantly. "May I ask you something… a little personal?"
His shoulders tensed, but he gave a slow nod.
"All those flowers you buy…" her green eyes sparkled with curiosity. "Are they for someone special?"
The silence between them grew heavy. Obanai lowered his gaze, torn on whether to answer. Mitsuri bit her lip, immediately regretting her question.
"Oh, you don’t have to answer!" she rushed to say. "It’s just… I think it’s so beautiful, the way you’re so constant with something so romantic. That person must be very lucky."
He lifted his head then, his golden eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that made her freeze.
"Maybe… someday you’ll understand."
A shiver coursed through her. She wasn’t sure if it was from the ambiguity of his words, or from the way his eyes refused to leave hers.
The conversation eventually picked up again, a little awkward at first, but soon it flowed naturally. Both enjoyed the quiet presence of the other.
When they parted at the end of the afternoon, Mitsuri returned home with a lighter basket but a far heavier heart.
"Maybe someday you’ll understand."
Those words echoed in her mind, like the whisper of a secret not yet ready to be named.
And without realizing it, Mitsuri was already looking forward to the little bell at her shop more than ever.
When she finally returned to work, she realized something simple.
Routine was no longer routine for Mitsuri.
Every afternoon, without fail, she awaited the sound of the bell. Though she tried to convince herself he was just another customer, the truth was that ever since that walk through the market, something between them had changed. Obanai was no longer only the serious man who bought flowers. He was now someone she had shared a spring afternoon with under the cherry blossoms, someone who spoke of books and anise sweets, someone whose gaze still made her blush when she remembered it.
And that afternoon, when he entered, Mitsuri greeted him with her brightest smile.
"Welcome, Iguro-san." She rose from behind the counter, where she had been writing a sign for the display. "I have something special for you today."
She walked over to a vase in the corner, where large, majestic flowers rested, their petals soft and delicate. Carefully, she took one and wrapped it with paper and a yellow ribbon.
"A peony." She turned toward him, holding it with pride. "Its meaning is 'conjugal happiness', and also 'prosperity in love'. Don’t you think that’s a beautiful message?"
Obanai stared at the flower. His eyes seemed caught within its petals. The word conjugal pressed heavily against his chest.
Unaware, Mitsuri added gently,
"It’s a flower often given when one imagines a future together."
The silence that followed was unlike their usual one. Not awkward, but charged with emotion and unspoken feelings. In that instant, both might have understood that they could no longer pretend the flowers were only a pastime.
Obanai took the peony with trembling hands. He said nothing. He paid, as always, and left.
Mitsuri watched him go, and though she tried to focus on her work, she simply couldn’t.
What she did not expect was to see him again so soon.
When the shop closed, Mitsuri walked home along the quiet street, enjoying the fresh evening air. She carried a small bag of freshly baked bread, thinking of dinner. That was when she saw him—leaning against a lamppost, as though he had been waiting for her.
"Iguro-san?" she asked, surprised.
He straightened, unsure, as if he wasn’t entirely certain what he was doing there. His hands seemed torn between staying in his pockets or clutching the stem of the peony he still carried.
"Kanroji-san…" he began softly. After a long pause, he added, "Would you… like to go somewhere with me?"
Mitsuri blinked in disbelief.
"Eh?"
He looked away, clearly embarrassed.
"Not here. Not in the shop. I want… to invite you. To dinner. Or another walk. Please."
The words seemed torn from him with difficulty, but the flush on his cheeks, the way he clutched the peony’s stem, said everything.
Mitsuri felt her heart burst with a gentle warmth.
"Really… with me?" she whispered, needing the reassurance.
He nodded, still avoiding her eyes.
"If you’d like. If not, I understand."
But Mitsuri didn’t let him finish. She leaned toward him, her smile radiant.
"I would love to, Iguro-san."
For the first time since they had met, he looked at her directly, meeting those beautiful green eyes head-on. And there it was: a small, genuine smile that softened his entire expression.
Mitsuri pressed a hand to her chest, her heart pounding wildly.
«That smile… I want to see it more often.»
And so, beneath the glow of the streetlamps, with the peony as their witness, the seed they had quietly planted at last began to bloom into something new.
Dating Obanai was like tending to a flower bud just beginning to open. At first, everything was shy, almost silent; but Mitsuri knew that in every small gesture, there was a sincere effort.
The first time they met outside the shop, Obanai chose a quiet café. No crowded places, no noise. There, among the aroma of freshly ground coffee and the soft hum of music, Mitsuri spotted him sitting at a table in the corner.
"Iguro-san!" she greeted with enthusiasm, relieved that he had truly come.
"Kanroji-san." he replied simply.
Mitsuri sat across from him, resting her hands on the table. She wore a simple dress patterned with tiny flowers.
They each ordered coffee, and for the first few minutes, the conversation was clumsy. Obanai answered in short phrases, staring at his cup more than at her. But Mitsuri, with her endless patience, spoke about her shop customers, about how bees had visited the lavender pots that morning, about a new recipe she wanted to try.
Little by little, he began to participate more.
"It’s not that I dislike talking." he murmured at one point, almost as an apology. "I just… don’t know how to do it without sounding awkward."
Mitsuri smiled, leaning forward. "I like listening to you, Iguro-san. You can tell me anything, even if you think it doesn’t matter."
For a second, he looked at her directly, and something in his eyes softened.
Another day, they went for a walk in the park. The cherry trees had already lost most of their blossoms, and the ground was carpeted with dry petals. Mitsuri, with her usual enthusiasm, picked some up to keep.
"What do you do with those?" Obanai asked.
"I like pressing them into a notebook." she answered. "That way, when I look at them later, I remember how I felt that day."
He nodded slowly. He didn’t say anything more, but when they returned home, Mitsuri discovered that he had kept one of the petals in his pocket.
One afternoon, Mitsuri invited him to her apartment. It was small but cozy, filled with potted plants on the windowsills, fresh bouquets in vases, and colorful details in every corner.
"I want to teach you how to care for a plant." she announced excitedly, placing a small succulent in front of him. "They’re easy—perfect for beginners."
Obanai studied the little rounded cactus with a mix of doubt and respect. "I’ve never had luck with plants."
"That’s because no one explained it to you with love!" she laughed, naturally taking his hand to guide it over the soil. "All it needs is a bit of light and not too much water."
He froze for a few seconds, feeling the warmth of her fingers against his. Then, slowly, he let her guide him.
When they finished, the pot was decorated with a smooth white stone. Mitsuri beamed with satisfaction. "Now this little plant is your responsibility."
Obanai lowered his gaze to the cactus, and though he said nothing, Mitsuri caught a faint spark of pride in his eyes.
On another occasion, it was he who invited her—not to a café or a park, but to the historical library where he worked.
"This is where I spend most of my days." he explained, guiding her through the aisles. "People think old books are useless, but each one has a story to tell."
Mitsuri listened in fascination as she admired the place.
"It’s like… a garden of words." she whispered. "And you care for them as if they were flowers."
Obanai stopped, surprised by the comparison. He didn’t reply, but his lips curved into a genuine smile.
And so, between quiet cafés, gentle walks, tiny plants, and old books, the distance between them slowly disappeared.
Mitsuri discovered that beneath his shell of silence, Obanai had a heart that spoke louder than he realized. And he, though it was hard to admit, found in her a warm refuge.
The language of flowers had begun their story. But now, they were the ones writing it.
And yet… Mitsuri had never been to Obanai’s apartment.
When he finally invited her, he did so with the same seriousness that seemed to surround everything in his life. It wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment invitation; he thought about it for several seconds.
"Kanroji-san…" he murmured, stopping after walking her home. "Would you… come to my apartment sometime? It’s nothing special, but… I’d like to show you something."
Mitsuri looked at him in surprise, then smiled so sweetly that he turned away, embarrassed. "I’d love to, Iguro-san!"
On the agreed day, Mitsuri arrived with a small bouquet in her hands. She had chosen freesias—delicate flowers that meant trust and friendship in bloom.
When she arrived, he greeted her with a mix of nervousness and something more. His apartment was modest, with pale walls and simple furniture, shelves filled with perfectly ordered books.
"It’s very cozy." Mitsuri said, smiling in a way that seemed to light up the room.
"Thank you." he replied, still a little shy.
They sat at the table first, sharing tea and a few sweets Mitsuri had brought. The conversation flowed more smoothly than ever—calm and warm.
But Mitsuri, curious by nature, couldn’t help noticing the large frame on the far wall, covered with glass. Slowly, she approached, and her heart skipped a beat.
Flowers.
Each one, perfectly pressed and preserved, rested against a white background. Beneath them, written in neat, steady handwriting, were their meanings.
The white camellia.
The red tulip.
The blue hyacinth.
The white daisy.
The peony…
All of them.
Every flower Obanai had ever bought at the shop was there.
Mitsuri brought a hand to her mouth, deeply moved. "Iguro-san." she whispered, turning toward him. "This…?"
He stood a little apart, his arms tense at his sides. "I wanted you to see them." His voice was low but heavy with the weight of something he had held back for far too long. "I never knew how else to say it."
Mitsuri looked back at the frame, reading again the words beneath each flower.
You are adorable.
I love you.
Constancy.
Faithful love.
Conjugal happiness.
Her heart pounded until it almost hurt. The flowers she had thought were meant for someone else had always been for her.
She turned to him, eyes shining with emotion. "From the very beginning… they were for me?"
Obanai swallowed hard, averting his gaze. "Yes." His answer was simple, but brimming with truth.
A silence heavy with emotion surrounded them. Mitsuri took a step toward him. Then another, until she was close enough to feel the warmth of his breath.
"Iguro-san…" she whispered, her voice trembling with tenderness. "Why didn’t you tell me?"
"Because I thought… you could never look at me the same way."
Mitsuri’s eyes filled with tears. Without hesitation, she took his hands in hers. "I was waiting. All those days… every flower, every word. I wanted them to be for me."
For the first time, his golden eyes revealed a mix of disbelief and relief. Mitsuri smiled, radiating that warmth only she possessed.
"I think it’s time to drop the formalities, Iguro."
And before he could say anything else, Mitsuri leaned forward and kissed him.
It wasn’t a timid or rushed kiss. It was full of love, of unspoken words, of promises hidden among petals. Obanai, startled at first, responded clumsily, but soon surrendered, letting himself be carried away by the intensity of the moment.
When they pulled apart, Mitsuri rested her forehead against his, laughing softly through her tears.
Obanai, for his part, finally smiled fully—a smile that reached his eyes. "You don’t know how long I’ve wished for this."
She caressed his face tenderly, unafraid of his scars. "Now you don’t need flowers to tell me. But… please, don’t stop buying them."
"I never will."
And so, they kissed again, tenderly. At last, a couple had bloomed.