Work Text:
The bell above the door of your flower shop chimed softly. You looked up from arranging a bucket of fresh lavender to see a man who quite literally filled the doorway.
He was enormous. Broad-shouldered and tall enough to have to slightly duck his head, with a stern, almost intimidating face framed by pale, silver hair. He stood stiffly, his eyes scanning the shop with a look of deep concentration. A few people nearby nervously shuffled away from him, looking slightly scared.
You saw the way his jaw tightened just a fraction, the almost imperceptible dip in his shoulders. It was a reaction he was clearly used to, and it made something in your chest twinge.
"Hello! Welcome in," you called out with a warm smile, not paying any mind to the way he stood out. You’d learned that the most unlikely people often had the softest hearts, especially where flowers were concerned.
He gave a short, sharp nod, his intense gaze flicked to you for a second before darting away, as if surprised by the direct address. He moved with a surprising, deliberate gentleness through the narrow aisles, his large frame carefully navigating the space to avoid brushing against any of the delicate displays.
"I'm here," he began, his voice a deep, quiet rumble that suited his appearance, "for the class. Aone Takanobu."
"Oh, wonderful! I've got you right here," you said, consulting your clipboard with a nod. You didn't comment on the fact that his name was the only one on the list without a plus-one. "We're just setting up in the back. You can go take a seat with the others." You gestured towards the large rustic table where about ten other participants were already chatting animatedly.
Aone nodded once again before making his way to the table.The lively chatter died down for a moment. Seats subtly became occupied as people suddenly found a deep interest in the vase directly in front of them, too scared to look up.
Noticing the shift, Aone’s expression didn't change. Without a fuss, he gravitated toward the one empty chair tucked in the far corner.
Aone nodded once, a sharp, efficient motion. He made his way to the table, and the lively chatter dipped for a moment. Seats subtly became occupied as people suddenly found a deep interest in the vase directly in front of them. Noticing the shift, Aone’s expression didn't change, but the air around him seemed to withdraw. Without a fuss, he gravitated toward the one empty chair tucked in the far corner.
The bouquet-making began, filling the air with the scent of blooms and the sound of snipping stems and quiet chatter. Aone sat in his corner with intense, silent focus. His large hands, which looked like they could easily crush the delicate stems, instead handled them with incredible reverence and care. He listened to your every instruction, his eyes following your demonstrations with unwavering attention.
You made your rounds, offering tips and encouragement.
When you reached his station, you paused. The bouquet in front of him was surprisingly and utterly elegant—a beautifully balanced mix of textures and colors, arranged with a naturalist's eye. It was thoughtful and quiet, just like him.
"You're doing great," you praised sincerely, your smile softening. He still didn't look up, but you saw the way his shoulders tensed slightly at your attention. "Seriously, this is wonderful. The way you've used the bear grass to frame the tulips is really creative. It gives it such lovely movement."
Aone finally chanced a glance up at you through his silver lashes. Your smile was open and honest, completely devoid of the nervousness or fear he so often saw. You saw the artistry, not the intimidating artist. A faint, rosy pink flush crept up his neck, warming the tips of his ears.
He opened his mouth as if to speak, but no sound came out. He simply closed it again and gave a small, almost imperceptible shrug, as if to say, ‘I’m just following your instructions.’
The rest of the class passed in a blur for Aone. His focus was no longer solely on the flowers, but on the sound of your laughter from across the room, the way you patiently helped a struggling participant, the gentle way you touched the petals. When you demonstrated how to tie the bouquet with raffia, his eyes were glued to your hands, memorizing the precise, graceful movements.
The workshop continued, but your attention kept being pulled back to your quietest student. You demonstrated how to weave a ribbon through the stems for a finishing touch, and your eyes met Aone’s as he watched with rapt focus. This time, he didn’t look away immediately. He held your gaze for a precious second, a silent question in his deep blue eyes, before dropping his focus back to his work with that telltale blush dusting his cheeks again.
You finished the demonstration and let everyone practice. As you circulated, you saved his station for last, giving him time to work.
When you approached, he was meticulously, almost painstakingly, attempting to tie the ribbon. His large fingers fumbled with the delicate satin, the contrast endearing.
"Having trouble with the finale?" you asked, your voice gentle so as not to break his concentration.
He let out a soft, frustrated breath—more of a sigh through his nose. It was the most sound you’d heard from him since he’d introduced himself.
"Here," you said, stepping closer. "May I?"
With another small sigh he nodded again, his body going very still as you leaned in. You didn't take the bouquet from him. Instead, you placed your hands over his, guiding his fingers through the motion.
"The trick is to not pull too tight. You want it secure, but gentle. Like this," you explained softly, your voice barely above a whisper. His hands were warm and slightly calloused beneath yours.
Under your guidance, the ribbon formed a perfect, soft bow. You finally let go and took a small step back.
Aone stared down at the finished bouquet, then at his hands, then finally, directly at you
"Thank you," he rumbled, the words low and sincere. It was more than a simple courtesy; it felt like genuine gratitude for your patience, for not shying away.
"You're very welcome, Aone-san," you replied, "It really is a beautiful bouquet. Is it for someone special?"
The question seemed to startle him. He looked down at the flowers, then back at you, and a new, different kind of nervousness seemed to take hold. He shook his head slowly.
"No," he said, and then, after a pause that seemed to require great effort, he added, "For my kitchen table. It... needed color."
This giant of a man, who scared strangers without trying, just wanted to make his home a little brighter with flowers. You tried to stop your smile from growing even more.
"I think that's a wonderful reason," you said warmly. "Probably the best reason."
He held the bouquet out to you slightly, a silent question in his eyes.
"You made this. It's yours to take home," you clarified with a soft laugh.
He nodded, pulling it back to his chest almost protectively. "I know. I meant... is it good?"
He was asking for your approval. He had poured his quiet focus into this creation and wanted to know if you, the expert, thought it was truly worthy.
"It's more than good, Aone-san," you said, your voice firm with sincerity. "It's perfect. You have a real talent for this."
The pink flush returned full force, coloring his neck and the tips of his ears. He looked profoundly pleased, the stern lines of his face softening into something incredibly gentle. "Oh," he murmured, the sound deep and soft. "That’s..Good."
The class began to wind down, participants gathering their things and their bouquets, offering you thanks as they filtered out. Aone stayed seated, carefully placing his bouquet into the carrier you provided.
Once he was the last one left he stood up, his height once again dominating the space, but the atmosphere was different now. Softer.
He walked to the counter where you were wiping down shears. He stopped a respectful distance away and gave a small, formal bow.
"Thank you for the class," he said, his voice a low, respectful rumble.
"Thank you for coming, Aone-san. I hope you enjoyed it."
He nodded, a decisive motion. "I did." He hesitated, his fingers tightening slightly on the handle of his flower carrier. "Do you... hold these often?"
"We have a beginner's workshop on the last Saturday of every month," you said, leaning slightly against the counter. "The themes change. Next month is seasonal wreaths."
He processed this information with a look of deep thought. "Wreaths," he repeated, as if committing it to memory.
"Will I see you next month, then?" you asked, the question light and hopeful.
Aone’s eyes snapped to yours, wide for a fraction of a second before that familiar, gentle shyness returned. He gave one final, firm nod.
"Yes."
And with that, and another slight bow, he turned and left. You watched his broad back retreat, a soft smile already gracing your lips. But he only made it three steps before he stopped mid-stride, his shoulders squaring as if he'd just mustered a courage usually reserved for facing a powerful spike.
He turned back to you, his expression one of intense concentration. He took a small, sharp breath, as if steeling himself against a wave of nerves.
“Do you think…” he began, his deep voice even quieter than before, almost a rumble in his chest. He couldn’t quite meet your eyes, focusing instead on a point just past your shoulder. “...I could see you sooner?”
The hesitant question made you grin.
“Tommorow. My break starts at two, we could go to the coffee shop nearby.”
His eyes lit up.
The tension drained from his shoulders, and when his eyes finally found yours again, they were alight with a soft, surprised happiness, like the sun breaking through a stern gray sky.
“Yes,” he said, the word coming out in a relieved exhale. He nodded again, more to himself than to you. “Yes. Okay.”
With that final, self-reassuring agreement, the bell chimed softly behind him as he finally left. You watched him go, your heart feeling impossibly light.
He hadn't just signed up for another class. He had, in his quiet, deliberate way, asked for a chance to see you again.