laterosal

ʚ lights out ɞ

📌 tumblr & ao3: laterosalʚɞ small butterfly writer who loves rambling ʚɞ

93 posts

Your Flower | Seishiro Nagi X Reader

♤ Your Flower | Seishiro Nagi x Reader

▽ featuring: seishiro nagi x reader … no repost on any platforms © laterosal 2024 … what started off as an unfamiliar bouquet of flowers to love blossoming in the winter … word count: 1.9k

📌 AO3 | one-shot

His first visit to the flower shop startled the florist: “Give me the least annoying one,” then marveling over a pet cactus for company. Of course, you didn’t mind customers requesting a plant company with the description of the least annoying one—although you did think that walking into a flower shop full of delicate and bright flowers just for that request was odd.

You could remember his light hair and tall stature stepping into the flower shop, his eyes half lidded as if exhaustion had hit him early in the day. You could not forget his soothing voice, the way he mumbled his request as you blinked in confusion.

Early one morning, you walked into the flower shop and opened the blinds of the windows, basking in the sunlight for a second. You spun the closed blackboard sign to the opposite side, the bolded letters written in chalk of “We’re Open!” slightly smudged. As you stood near the counter, peering over in the buckets of flowers to see some wilted leaves. You frowned, before carefully getting to work to restore the beauty of the white roses.

Minutes passed as you finally finished your work of tending to the white flower, before moving to several other flowers around the shop that needed some care. Then, a quiet jingle from the door rang as a customer stepped into the flower shop. The ambrosial fragrance of the colorful flowers blasted towards the customer’s way, before you cheerily welcomed them in.

“Welcome! Is there anything I can help with?” Still preoccupied with your work, you carefully cut the flower’s stem.

“Is there a bouquet of flowers I can give to someone?” You swiveled around, familiar with the quiet voice. He wore a hoodie with the word “Mendokusai,” his hair disheveled.

“Oh—Welcome back! How’s your cactus?” you asked as you scurried over to the counter, flipping open your notebook to scribble the silver-haired boy’s request. Although you have had many customers over the last few weeks, you could never forget him. He stood out radiantly in your memory, like the beauty of pure innocence that blinded you. You stared into his gray eyes intently as they sparkled slightly.

“Choki? Fine, I guess.. At least Choki’s not a hassle to deal with…” he muttered to himself as you tried leaning forward to hear him.

“Huh? Choki? Okay.” You paused slightly, wondering if that was his cactus’ name. “What’s up for today?” You grinned at him, ready to write the customer’s request on your trusty notebook.

“Flowers for… someone.”

“Hm. Okay. What’s your relationship with them? Or is this a certain occasion for getting a bouquet of flowers? Or do you want a flower to keep you company? Although you may think it’s a hassle, I can assure you it’s definitely worth it. Or do you have a favorite flower yourself?”

“... favorite flower for someone… confess…” He murmured.

“Like my opinion for getting a flower to confess to someone?” You looked surprised at his question.

He shook his head, pointing at you as he lazily corrected: “My favorite flower is y— Your favorite flower to receive from someone if they confess to you.”

“Ooh. Uh. That’s difficult to say, really. I—”

“Make that a bouquet. Please.” He gazed at you gently as you nodded at his request. Those very eyes entranced you, as if a simple refusal would dim the light in his eyes.

“Consider it done, then. Give me a few minutes for preparation.” You hurried over to the buckets of flowers, staring at the white roses you had trimmed earlier. Slowly assembling the bouquet of flowers consisting of the light-colored daisies and white roses, you removed the leaves and trimmed the stems with sharp scissors all while wearing thick gloves. Although having accidentally cut your skin on your arm, you ignored the sting from the cut made from the scissors and carefully adjusted the shape of the bouquet of flowers, wrapping the beauty in wrapping paper and twine.

“Here it is!” You presented the bouquet to him with both hands as you printed a receipt for him after he pushed the paper money onto the counter. “Have a good day!”

He stared at the flowers and ran his fingers through the petal, before lifting his eyes toward you. Then noticing a cut on your arm, he put the bouquet of flowers down and instinctively reached for your arm.

“Cut.” He reached from his backpack a small bandage, peeling off the paper and covering the wounded area. You stared in amazement at how such a person—a stranger—could captivate you with his actions and his eyes.

“Oh. Thank you.” You gently pushed his hand away, smiling smally at him. Moments like these made your heart flutter, his gentle hands against your skin. He picked up the bouquet of flowers and cradled it, retreating to the outside with a lingering bell jingle from within the shop.

You leaned against the counter touching the bandage on your arm. The sparkle in his eyes and calming voice made you wonder whether he was this gentle towards others, or whether it was just to you.

Though you would have to admit that the pure white flowers were not your favorite, you wondered to yourself why the delicate blankness of the beauty was handpicked by you, given to this stranger.

Your favorite flower to receive from someone if they confess to you.

You had much preferred a lush bouquet of fresh red roses, the ones displayed by the window of the flower shop. Yet seeing his mesmerizing, gentle eyes and soft hair, he reminded you of a pure entity, hence these light-colored flowers.

The week after his visit and the following one, he would pop in and request for the same bouquet of flowers. Near the end of his visit, you would see him open his mouth, hesitate, before retreating to the exit. You did believe that whomever was receiving these bouquets of flowers was a lucky person, although feeling your heart throbbing as you realized that he was taken. He seemed impossible to reach, like an angel from faraway lands. Every second your mind wandered to him, you simply frowned, further slashing boundaries between your customer and you.

As his early morning stops at the beginning of every week became a routine, you often prepared the bouquets beforehand with extra care, perfecting the bouquet every time he slowly walked in, sliding the money on the counter, before reaching for the bouquet gently. One day, he never showed up.

And then the next.

And the next.

For multiple weeks, you kept the bouquet of fresh flowers by your side, before the week ended and the once bright flowers wilted.

Perhaps he had broken up with the person he bought flowers for. Perhaps something had happened to him.

You weren’t sure of the situation, although despite him never returning for the next few months, you continued to assemble the bouquet of daisies and white roses, hoping for him to return one day. For you to hope to see him, one last time, before he disappeared and never able to reach again.

Even in early autumn when the white roses bloomed best, he never returned. Week after week with no connection, you laid the flowers in front of you on the counter, having no desire to continue reassembling the bouquet of flowers, for foolish hope for him to return no more.

Winter rolled around, with heavy snowfall every morning you woke up. You hurried to work by foot, hoping that you were able to open on time. Although you were only a few minutes late while running in the snow, you found a familiar figure in front of the flower shop. His scarf covered his face as his ears were flushed from the cold, his hands in his hoodie with the word “Mendokusai” in small print. You paused, before moving towards him to speak.

“Oh-hey. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” You chuckled to yourself as you unlocked the door, turning on the lights to the flower shop. The lights flickered slightly, before brightly showering the flower shop with illuminating golden light. “Your usual?” You could barely breathe, seeing him near you, his aura slowly lulling you.

“Yes.” The boy, around your age, nodded slightly as he slipped his hands out of his pocket, thin gloves perfectly fitted on his hands. “Please.” You gazed at him, the words tumbling out of his mouth sounding desperate than ever.

You reached for the flowers in the buckets, memorizing the routine of assembling this bouquet for him. Then quickly wrapped around the bouquet was paper and twine, before you left it on the counter for him to pick up gently.

“May I ask why you haven’t stopped by for some time?” you carefully asked, stopping him by the door.

“... was hoping you asked.” he mumbled. “‘s nothing much. Soccer.” He shrugged, pulling his scarf loosely.

“I see. Have a good day, yeah?” you whispered to him as he turned to leave the flower shop, the ringing of the bell echoing in your mind. Leave, but please come back. He was the reason your heart ached, the reason you could barely breathe when he was around you. You longed to see him again, rather than leaving for a long time, not knowing what had happened to him. You did not just want him to leave your life as quick as he came into your life—

“... too.”

“Hm?”

He paused, before turning his head to face you.

“Have you been making these bouquets even after I didn’t return?”

His question took you by surprise, although you gave him a vague answer with: “Not really.”

“Sorry.”

You frowned and walked around the counter, closing the gap between you two.

“What are you apologizing for?” You tip-toed to attempt to look into his eyes at the same level, although his tall stature made it challenging.

“It took you a lot less time to make the bouquet. Like you knew exactly where the flowers were placed.” he whispered.

You froze—Was he always this observational?

“I—Yeah. I do.” you admitted to him, his gray eyes sparkling at you. “Who did you give those bouquets to?”

You waited for his response, bracing for a curt reply that would drive a knife into your heart. From the moment you had met him, he captured your attention and heart, even if he had someone else he loved.

“I never gave them to anyone.”

“What?”

“They were— They were meant… to be for you.”

You choked back a cry and hesitated to answer. He had kept the bouquets to himself, the very flowers you had handpicked that reminded you of him. The flowers that you had deemed to be the ones you wished to receive if one had ever confessed to you.

“Were you waiting for me this whole time?”

“Yes.” You buried your head into your hands as he reached his hand forward and caressed your hands gently.

“You waited for a long time, then.”

“I miss you.” Your muffled words were barely heard by the person whose name was never even revealed to you. “Even if I didn’t know you all that well.”

He gently grabbed your hands, placing the bouquet of flowers on yours, whispering his name in your ears, followed by words that made your heart race.

“My name is Seishiro Nagi. … Of all the flowers here I would pick, it would be you.”