Chapter Text
Chaos was practically a homeroom elective in your town. Between Kotoha’s half-baked schemes, your “medic-on-call” reputation, and the weekly brawl that bloomed like clockwork outside the school gates, you’d accepted long ago that normal life simply didn’t exist here.
Still, even you didn’t expect your quiet study afternoon to be shattered by a man‑sized catastrophe.
You and Kotoha sat cross-legged on her bedroom floor, sunlight spilling through sheer curtains and catching on the dust motes drifting lazily in the air. Textbooks lay open in front of you both, though the surrounding mess of gummy wrappers and half‑eaten snacks suggested studying had been losing the war for a while. The room smelled faintly of green tea and strawberry pocky.
Kotoha stabbed her pencil into her math book with the dramatic flair of someone committing a felony. “I swear, if I have to solve one more equation, I’m joining a biker gang.”
You didn’t bother looking up. “You wouldn’t last a day.”
“I’d last two. Minimum.”
You snorted. “You’d get arrested by lunchtime, Kotoha-chan.”
She opened her mouth, no doubt to aim a dramatic rebuttal your way, when a crash thundered from downstairs. The force of it rattled a few pens off her desk. A split‑second later came the bellow:
“KOTOHAAAAA!”
Your pen nearly flew across the room.
Kotoha dropped her head into her hands like a soldier accepting defeat.
“Oh my god. Not again.”
“…Huh?” you murmured, bewildered.
Before she could answer, her bedroom door slammed open with the kind of force that suggested hinges were merely a polite suggestion.
A tall boy stood framed in the doorway, his uniform dirty, expression bright, and clutching his arm like it might detach without supervision. Despite the dirt smeared across his cheek, he wore a grin so radiant it felt almost illegal.
“Kotoha!” he beamed breathlessly. “You got any bandages? Or maybe ice? Or maybe— oh.”
His eyes finally landed on you and stopped mid-motion.
You froze too, mid-bite of a pocky stick.
“… Hi?” you offered.
For three long, awkward seconds, he stared. Then—
“Who’s this?”
Kotoha dragged a hand down her face. “My friend from school. Hajime, what did you do this time?”
He looked at his arm as if only now realizing it was injured. “Oh! This? It’s fine. Just a scratch.”
“That’s not a scratch,” you observe, raising a brow. “That’s a medical incident.”
He laughed— sheepish, bright, reckless. “It’s not that bad!”
Kotoha sighed like someone who had been through this far too many times. “Hajime, you’re going to get tetanus one day.”
“Only if I’m unlucky!”
“Kotoha-chan,” you sighed, already standing, “bandages. Now.”
Both of them stared at you.
“You… what?” Kotoha gaped, confused.
“I said I’ll fix him up. You can’t just leave a wound open like that.”
Hajime sputtered. “You really don’t have to—”
“Sit.”
He obeyed immediately.
You dug the first aid kit from Kotoha’s cabinet (one that had clearly seen frequent use), then knelt beside him. He watched you with the dazed, stunned look of a boy getting hit by Cupid wielding a sledgehammer.
“Hold still,” you muttered, dabbing at the dirt and grime on his arm.
“Uh… sure.”
“Does this hurt?”
“Not as much as my pride.”
Kotoha groaned. “You’re such an idiot.”
You wrapped the bandage neatly, ignoring their banter. “You need to stop picking fights. All you boys in Makochi act like bones grow back overnight. Soon y’all will have nothing left to injure.”
“Then I’ll take better care of myself,” he promises quickly. “Wouldn’t wanna worry you.”
You paused. “You… don’t even know me?”
He smiled gently, soft and devastating. “Not yet.”
Kotoha smacked him with a pillow. “Gross! Don’t flirt in my room.”
You rolled your eyes, tying off the bandage. “You’re both impossible.”
He looked down at his arm, flexing experimentally. “You’re pretty good at this.”
“Thanks,” you mumble, cleaning up. “Try not to come back with more injuries.”
“No promises,” he laughed, far too bright for someone bleeding on Kotoha’s floor.
You didn’t think much of it at the time— just another reckless boy with more heart than caution.
But later that night, Kotoha sent you a message:
Kotoha: btw Hajime hasn’t stopped talking about you
You: tell him to focus on not bleeding
Kotoha: he said he’d get hurt again if it meant you’d patch him up
You: tell him to stop talking too
You’d laughed it off.
You had no idea that years later, that same loud, reckless boy would be walking your flower shop— older, taller, still grinning like an idiot— holding a bruised bouquet and asking for “flower advice.”
That was the real start of your story.
[2 Years Later]
The bell above the flower shop door chimed softly: a sound you’d learned to associate with customers, casual browsers, and occasionally Kotoha showing up to “keep you company” while drinking all your coffee.
You didn’t expect the thud that followed it.
Then came the voice.
“Y/N!”
You froze mid-bouquet wrap. That voice. That volume.
No way. He wasn’t supposed to know where you worked.
You turned, and there he was.
Umemiya Hajime stood in the doorway, sunlight catching in his hair like an accidental halo. He looked like he’d stepped straight out of a fight and directly into a shampoo commercial. He was taller now, much taller, but still had the same soft eyes and ridiculous grin that had made middle school memorable.
And, because some things never changed, his knuckles were bleeding.
You blinked, eyeing his hands wearily. “You’ve got to be kidding me…”
He followed your gaze, glanced down, and sheepishly raised his hands. “Ah, yeah, that’s, uh— a training accident?”
“A training accident,” you repeat. “You lead a gang, Umemiya, not a sports club. Y’all don’t exactly train.”
He laughed, delighted. “You still remember!”
“I remember you tracking dirt into Kotoha-chan’s house and bleeding on her carpet.”
He looked genuinely remorseful. “Ahaha… good times.”
“Not for her cleaning bill.”
“Hey, I offered to mop!”
“You were the mop.”
He laughed again— that bright, guileless laugh that somehow made it impossible to stay annoyed for long. Then his eyes landed on the flower counter behind you, and his whole face lit up even more.
“Whoa,” he awed, stepping closer. “This place is amazing. You work here?”
You nodded slowly. “Yeah. Since last year.”
“That’s so cool! You always liked pretty stuff, huh?”
You blinked. “I literally met you while disinfecting an open wound.”
He grinned wider. “Yeah, you were really pretty then too.”
Your brain short-circuited. “I… what— Umemiya.”
The bell chimed again before you could process it.
“Found you!” Kotoha announced as she strut inside carrying two iced drinks and enough smugness to fuel a small city.
You grimaced. “Oh god, not you too.”
“You say that like I’m not the reason he’s here,” she sang.
You blinked. “You what?”
Kotoha hummed, leaning over the counter. “He said he wanted to get flowers and I said I knew someone who could help. What, you thought he just stumbled in by accident?”
“I did stumble,” Umemiya admitted. “Over that curb outside.”
Kotoha smirked. “Literally too, apparently.”
You put a hand to your forehead, whining. “Why does trouble always find me?”
Hajime rubbed the back of his neck, laughing softly. “Sorry for barging in, really. I just… uh.” He held up a sad, mangled bouquet. “I was hoping to ask for some… flower advice?”
You gaped at the sad excuse of a bouquet. “… What the hell even happened to them?”
“The delivery guy dropped it,” he explained quickly. “Totally not my fault.”
“Right…” you grunted, taking the bouquet from him and sighing. “So, who’s this for?”
He hesitated. “Someone important.”
Kotoha made a sound somewhere between a gasp and a snort. “Oh my god, this is hilarious.”
You frowned at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing!” she simpered, sipping her drink.
“Anyways,” Hajime redirects the conversation, “I thought maybe you could help me pick better flowers? You, uh, seem to know what you’re doing.”
You narrowed your eyes slightly, suspicious, but nodded. “Fine. What kind of message are you trying to send?”
“Message?”
You stared at him with judgement. “Do you even know what flowers mean?”
He blinked. “They mean… I thought you were nice?”
You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Oh my god.”
Kotoha was wheezing into her cup now.
“Okay,” you sighed. “Rule one: no random grabbing. Every flower has a meaning. You could be confessing eternal love or declaring war.”
“... Cool,” he nods, clearly not comprehending a word.
You handed him a red carnation. “This one means admiration.”
He smiled. “Then that one’s perfect.”
“For the person you’re getting it for?”
He blinked, face blank. “Uh– Yeah. Totally.”
Kotoha’s choking noises grew louder.
You frowned. “You good over there?”
She waved a hand, eyes watery. “Never better.”
You rolled your eyes and went back to arranging stems. “Alright, how about this? I’ll put together something simple, clean, and impossible to misinterpret.”
“Sounds great,” Hajime agrees readily, watching you work with open fondness. “You’ve really gotten good at this, huh?”
You glanced up. “You say that like I shouldn’t be?”
“No, no,” he retracts. “I just like learning something new about you.”
You paused mid-trim, trying very hard not to look at him. “You’re too smooth for your own good, you know that?”
He smiled. “Guess I’m just being honest.”
Kotoha muttered under her breath, “He’s got it bad.”
You shot her a glare. “What was that?”
“Nothing,” she sang. “Just admiring the pretty flowers.”
“Right,” you roll your eyes. “Totally believable.”
When you finally handed him the finished bouquet— balanced, neat, and vibrant— Umemiya took it with both hands, looking absurdly touched.
“This is perfect,” he murmurs. “Thank you.”
“Don’t ruin it before you deliver it,” you warned.
“I’ll try my best!”
“You said that last time with the food, and you ended up fighting with a mailbox.”
“That mailbox had an attitude!” He defends.
Kotoha groaned. “Please marry him just to keep him from dying.”
You blinked, thinking you were hearing things. “Excuse me?”
Umemiya’s face went bright red. “Kotoha!”
“What? I’m doing god’s work!”
You shoved the receipt toward her. “You’re paying for emotional damages.”
Umemiya laughed again, scratching his cheek as he backed toward the door. “Thanks again, Y/N. I’ll, uh… come back soon?”
“You better not be bleeding next time,” you shot back.
He let out a laugh. “No promises.”
The bell chimed as he left, the sound fading into the soft hum of the shop again.
Kotoha turned to you, sipping the last of her drink. “So. Are you still claiming he’s not your type?”
You glared at her. “He’s not.”
“Sure,” she teases, smiling. “Apparently.”
You threw a stem at her.
The Bofurin boys had a problem.
Not the usual “we accidentally demolished public property while fighting gangs again” kind of problem— no, this one was much, much worse.
Umemiya Hajime was in love.
And it was driving everyone insane.
“Guys,” Hiragi started, slamming his hands on the café table, “He’s gone soft.”
Everyone turned to stare at him.
“What do you mean, soft?” Sakura asked, mid-bite of his onigiri.
“I mean,” Hiragi hissed, leaning in, “He’s been smiling at his phone for fifteen minutes straight.”
“Maybe he’s looking at dogs or something?” Nirei suggested.
Hiragi shook his head gravely. “He giggled.”
There was a collective gasp.
“Giggled?” Sakura repeated, horrified. “Umemiya?!”
“Maybe he’s finally snapped,” Suo suggests.
Across the table, Umemiya blinked, earbuds in, scrolling through his phone. “Huh? You guys talking about me?”
“NO,” they all blurted out at once.
He blinked again, shrugged, and went back to his phone.
And then he did it again.
He giggled.
By the end of the day, the boys had an actual theory board set up in the garage.
Strings, sticky notes, and a blurry photo of Umemiya smiling— it looked less like detective work and more like a group breakdown.
“I’m telling you,” Hiragi nearly tears up, pacing. “He’s seeing someone. He has to be!”
“There’s no way,” Sakura protested. “When would he even have time?”
“He disappeared for three hours yesterday,” Kiryu butts in. “Came back smelling like flowers and optimism.”
“Optimism?”
“You heard me.”
Suo crossed his arms, humming. “Alright, who do we know that works with flowers?”
Everyone paused.
And then, in unison:
“Kotoha.”
The air went still.
“No,” Nirei whispered. “He wouldn’t.”
“He couldn’t,” Hiragi added, popping more stomachache meds. “She’d kill him.”
“Maybe that’s what he’s into,” Sakura blurts out before dodging a punch.
“Don’t even joke like that!”
Meanwhile, across town, Kotoha was absolutely thriving.
She leaned against the counter of your flower shop, sipping an iced latte, watching you trim stems and tie ribbons like a woman who had way too much information.
“So,” she starts innocently, “guess who’s been coming here twice a week now?”
You didn’t even look up. “If you say Umemiya, I’m going to start charging him for non-existent items.”
Kotoha cackled. “Bold of you to assume he wouldn’t pay it. Gladly, at that.”
You sighed. “Kotoha-chan...”
“What? I’m just saying, the man looks like a golden retriever every time you look at him. I can hear his tail wagging.”
“I’m not a vet.”
“You could’ve fooled me! You patched him up just like one.”
You cut her a look. “You’re not funny.”
“Tell that to his entire friend group that's currently losing their collective minds.”
You paused, giving her an incredulous look. “His what is doing what?”
Kotoha’s grin widened. “Oh, they know. Hiragi-kun actually texted me this morning asking if you were ‘emotionally stable enough to handle Hajime’s affections.’”
You squinted. “He what?”
“Oh, they’re spiraling,” she provides cheerfully. “Last I heard, they’ve got a whole crime board going on.”
You stared in disbelief. “... A what board?”
“Pictures, yarn, theories— it’s absolute art. You should really see it later!”
You had the pressing urge to bash your head into the counter, but instead flung a hand to your forehead with a loud slap! “I have never wanted to fake my own death more.”
“Awww,” she cooed. “You’d look cute as a missing person.”
[Cut to Windbreaker Boys]
crouched behind a suspiciously large hedge, across the street from the flower shop, and holding binoculars.
“Target in sight,” Kiryu motioned.
“Stop calling her that,” Nirei muttered.
“She’s tying ribbons! Look at the precision!”
“Why are you narrating?” Suo raises his brows.
“Shut up Suo-chan, I’m documenting!”
Sakura squinted through the leaves. “Do you think he’s confessed yet?”
“Absolutely not,” Kiryu thought aloud. “He’s too dense for that.”
“Tragic,” Suo hums. “A man too brave for fear but too cowardly for love.”
Everyone turned to stare.
“What?” he shrugs.
Inside, Umemiya stood by the counter, holding a small bouquet like it was a live bomb.
“I, uh… didn’t know what to get, so I just grabbed whatever looked… nice.”
You smiled faintly, looking at the pastel blue blooms. “You picked hydrangeas.”
“Yeah! I like how they— uh, hydrate?”
Kotoha snorted behind you.
You sighed, shaking your head. “That’s… not what they mean, but sure.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, laughing sheepishly. “I just thought they’d suit you.”
Your hand faltered slightly as you wrapped the stems. “Me?”
“Yeah. Bright, kind of complicated-looking, but… good. You know?”
Kotoha had to physically turn around to hide her grin.
You quickly focused back on the bouquet. “You talk a lot for someone who bleeds awfully often.”
“I guess I found a better reason to stay out of fights.”
“Oh?” You prompted.
He smiled softly. “Don’t wanna show up looking like a mess in front of you.”
Kotoha made a strangled noise that could only be described as suppressed shrieking.
You ignored her. “That’s very considerate of you, Umemiya.”
Outside, a loud snap echoed— followed by muffled swearing.
You turned toward the window. “... What was that?”
Kotoha peeked through the blinds, eyes sparkling. “Oh my god. He brought his friends.”
“... He what?”
Sure enough, across the street, four very obvious teenagers pretended to admire a street sign while whispering furiously.
Umemiya’s entire face went pale. “Oh no.”
You folded your arms. “Those are your friends?”
“They, uh… get curious sometimes.”
“Curious about what?”
“About… me?” he tried weakly.
Kotoha lost it.
“Oh, this is beautiful,” she giggles, already opening her notes app.
“Kotoha-chan,” you warned.
“Sorry, sorry,” she waves off, grinning. “Just marking this as Confession Counter: Attempt Number One.”
You blinked. “Confession what?”
“Oh, honey,” she simpers, patting your shoulder. “You have no idea how long this is gonna take.”
To say Umemiya was obvious was an understatement.
The man’s feelings were practically written in neon lights above his head.
If hearts could physically orbit a person, he’d look like a walking shōjo manga panel.
Which, unfortunately, meant the rest of Bofurin noticed.
And decided to make it everyone’s problem.
[A Week Later]
“Alright,” Kiryu starts, slapping a map down onto the table, “Operation: Umbrella Love Confession is a go.”
Sakura groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “You named it that?”
Kiryu pointed at him. “I take my work seriously.”
“You take meddling seriously.”
“It’s called ‘emotional support,’ Saku-chan.”
Across from them, Nirei looked half amused, half terrified. “You guys do realize this could end in disaster, right?”
“Oh, it will end in disaster,” Kiryu nods solemnly. “We’re just deciding what kind.”
“Romantic,” Suo corrected. “Ideally.”
Sakura crossed his arms. “You’re all insane!”
Kiryu shrugged. “Insane for love.”
Suo stared at him. “You’ve known him for a year, Kiryu-kun.”
“And that’s exactly why I know he’s too much of an idiot to confess without a push!”
Meanwhile, it was pouring outside.
You were closing up the flower shop early, flipping the “Open” sign to “Closed,” when the door burst open.
A soaked, panting Umemiya stood there, dripping onto the mat like a labrador retriever that got caught in a hurricane.
“(Y/N)!” he calls breathlessly. “You don’t have to walk home in this!”
You blinked at him, concerned. “... Umemiya, I wasn’t planning to.”
“Oh.” He deflated slightly. “Still– I, uh, brought an umbrella.”
You eyed the single, tiny umbrella in his hand. “For both of us?”
He glanced at it. Then at you. “... It’s a very sturdy umbrella?” He offers.
You sighed, grabbing your own. “It’s alright. I’ve already got one.”
He frowned. “But I wanted to make sure you got home safe.”
“You’re literally drenched, Umemiya.”
“I’m fine!”
“You’re shivering.”
“I’m fine!” He insisted.
You squinted. “You’re going to get hypothermia trying to play hero.”
“Worth it,” he says without missing a beat.
You groaned. “You’re impossible.”
“Persistent,” he corrected, beaming.
“Same thing.”
Outside, in the rain, several shadows lurked behind a lamppost.
“Visual confirmation,” Kiryu whispered. “Target and medic are heading north on Aoba Street.”
Nirei crouched beside him, holding a pair of binoculars that fogged up immediately. “How romantic.”
Sakura, holding an umbrella over the two of them, hissed, “You two look like stalkers.”
“We are stalkers,” Kiryu declared. “Anything for love!”
Suo sighed behind them, drenched, hands in his pockets. “Maybe we should be more discreet?”
“Shh! They’re talking!”
You trudged along beside Umemiya, both umbrellas bumping into each other with every other step.
“This is stupid,” you deadpanned.
He grinned. “You say that about everything I do.”
“Because everything you do is stupid.”
“Yet here you are.”
You gave him a side-eye. “Don’t test me, Umemiya. I’ll leave you in the rain right now.”
He laughed, easy and bright even under the gray rain. “You’re funny when you’re mad.”
“Funny’s not the word I’d use.”
“Cute, then?”
You nearly tripped, stammering. “Excuse me?”
He blinked innocently. “I said mute? Like you go quiet when you’re annoyed?”
“That’s not what you said!”
He smiled sheepishly. “Maybe it wasn’t.”
You rolled your eyes, looked away, and hoped that he didn’t catch your ears burning.
Across the street, Kiryu was losing his mind.
“HE SAID SHE WAS CUTE!”
“He did not,” Sakura whispered, scandalized and blushing.
“He DID,” Nirei gasps. “Oh my god, he’s progressing!”
Kiryu exhaled through his nose. “He’s gonna trip over his own feet before he says the actual words.”
And right on cue—
Splash.
Umemiya’s foot landed in a puddle the size of a lake.
Water soaked his pants up to the knees.
He blinked down. “Oh.”
You shook your head slowly. “See? Hypothermia.”
He laughed it off. “You can’t catch a cold from puddles!”
“That’s exactly how it works, idiot.”
“Then I guess you’ll have to nurse me back to health.”
You stopped walking, shooting him a glare. “You did not just say that.”
He grinned. “Kotoha told me to try being bold.”
“Kotoha-chan’s banned from giving advice to anybody.”
Back at the stakeout, Kiryu was practically vibrating. “He’s so close! He just needs to say it!”
“He’s gonna blow it,” Suo observes.
“Have faith!”
“Faith doesn’t help when your leader’s… him,” Suo squints playfully.
Kiryu gasped dramatically. “Blasphemy.”
Suo stared at him. “You need a hobby.”
“This is my hobby.”
By the time you reached your apartment, the rain had slowed to a drizzle. You turned to him, arms crossed.
“Alright, hero. You made sure I got home safe. Mission accomplished. Now go dry off before you collapse.”
He nodded, smiling softly. “Are you sure you’re good?”
“I’m fine.”
He hesitated, rubbing his neck. “You, uh… want me to stop by tomorrow? I can bring you lunch.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to.”
You raised an eyebrow. “You want to bring me lunch?”
“Yeah,” he nods shyly. “I like seeing you smile.”
Your heart did that annoying little flip you refused to acknowledge.
“... You’re still soaked,” you huff, turning away.
He grinned, triumphant. “Does that mean you’re worried about me?”
You groaned. “Go home, Umemiya.”
“See you tomorrow?”
You move to open your door before he could see the faint smile tugging at your lips. “We’ll see.”
Across the street, under a dripping awning, Nirei pumped his fist.
“Attempt Number Two: Success!”
Suo glanced at him, confused. “He didn’t confess.”
“Baby steps,” Kiryu reasons.
“He almost drowned himself,” Sakura reminds them.
“Character development!”
Sakura sighed, shoving his hands into his pockets, a lingering blush on his cheeks. “At this rate, it’ll be spring before he actually says the words.”
Nirei grinned. “By then we’ll be ready with Attempt Number Three.”
Kiryu mumbled to himself, trailing off. “I hate that I know there’s going to be an attempt number three… it shouldn’t take this long!!”