every day at about the same time in the evening, a blond girl walked passed a flower shop on her way home.

during the spring and summer, this particular flower shop bore vibrant arrangements sprouting proudly from their soil beds, with butterflies of all colors and patterns flitting flower to flower, and bees coexisting. camellias and bloodroots open their bulbs, their petals opening wide to be kissed by sunlight. lilies and lilacs and poppies stand attentive, playfully swinging in the wind, as the myriad of colors create a meadow in the city. even during the winter, flurries of color survived the bitter winds and blossomed like a rebellious cry to their mother nature.

although, this store stood out among the buildings surrounding it. they crumbled and rotted, with rats pillaging the homes and trash cans, and homeless men and women slumbering on the cracked sidewalks along with the drunkards. those who actually could afford homes drilled in bars over their windows, as if they were protecting themselves from thieves. yet, no one fooled anyone. the lot of them hustled tourists and simpletons and stole from each other. it'd be hard to believe that such a paradise would exist in a city with cloudy air, rude pedestrians, and pickpockets.

on the block in the middle of it all was the small shop. it thrived on the ample business of those around it dying from slaughtering each other on the streets and their funerals, shotgun weddings and weddings of mobsters and millionaires, as well as the occasional party or lover looking for a pretty flower. a bit morbid, maybe, but the owner lived happily and healthily, so who could really complain? the walls were painted a pristine pastel blue and the door a pale yellow, and it held no sign at all whatsoever. nobody even knew the name, really, or its hours. it was in advertisements and such all over the city due to the fact of having the most superb blooms and decadent scents in the state, so a sign wouldn't make a difference in revenue. only those who actually entered the shop or stumbled upon the ads really found any information about it, but people didn't often enter the jungle of the man's shop simply because there was no need.

the owner, every day, came out before most people were out on the streets, or before those sleeping on the concrete even twitched. he preferred to stay beneath his awning in the shade, his nose tucked deep in a book, concealing his entire face, excluding his forehead and chin, and at times even his eyebrows. his fingers and apron were interminably covered in soil and dirt. his dark, tousled hair always blew gently in the breeze, pinned back from his forehead to avoid strands falling into his eyes while he picked for weeds or planted seeds. the only time he really looked up to acknowledge anything was when the pretty blonde flitted past, like a yellow butterfly in the breeze.

whenever people caught glimpses of his face, they could appreciate his beauty just as much as they appreciated the flowers'. his almond eyes were a deep turquoise color, indistinguishable from blue or green with a thick frame of lashes, and his lips plump and a soft pink. he had deeply tanned skin and found himself at a medium height, with strong arms and legs, and perfectly delicate hands.

his life bore no serious struggles, and he lived with no wants. except, he wanted the girl to acknowledge his shop.

every day at about the same time in the afternoon, that pretty blond girl walked passed a flower shop on her way home.

she held her head high, despite her small stature. her short, blonde hair bounced around just at her shoulders, half up and half down, with navy star pins and choppy bangs. she cast an air of aloofness, and it wilted his flowers and ego. she never looked at them, nor him, and simply carried on seemingly without a care in the world, and it irked the owner of the shop. he watched her, for weeks and weeks, noticing little details about her dresses, and how she always wore her hair in the same style. she carried a messenger bag, not a purse, and little by little her façade of confidence dwindled down to reality. his wounded pride had been in his imagination. he had grasped onto some delusional belief that she was just an arrogant person, but he caught on to how timid she really was.

he still had not uttered a work to this girl, yet every day he learned something new. he could figure that she was terrified of dogs by the way she flinched away from a miniature, but considerably snappy, pup. he inferred that she probably was allergic to bees by the way she nearly lost her mind every time one even buzzed. he even caught her staring at his pot of snowdrops out of the corner of her eye. his initial and misplaced hypothesis had been disproved, but counting on his recent and more detailed observation, she was just your regular joe who also happened to think her shadow was potentially an axe murderer. he realized he had misjudged her cover, thinking she'd be an intense read when she really contained fluff and unicorns. something to that effect, anyways.

he took his time to grow his flowers always, but one day he got his hands on a particularly rare set of seeds: bonsai dahlia. these flowers were renowned for their beauty and extremely sought after. he grew them in the front most pot, nurturing then with careful hands and love. many tried to buy them, but he refused them despite all the outrageous offers. he wanted to give them to the pretty blonde girl, with the navy star pins and nervous eyes. they were a honeypot in a more innocent and literal sense. he hoped to lure her close, to see her anxiety melt as she breathed in the aroma of his flowers.

he felt odd about it, but he didn't care much about oddities due to oddities being his forte. the day they bloomed, the pretty blonde girl didn't walk by.

he was an optimist, so he waited on her the next day.

and the next.

and the next.

but she didn't come by.

she didn't swoon and fall into his arms.

she didn't show until after the flowers were wilted and ugly, their vibrant colors ground into the dirt. he sat in his chair, leaned back with his eyes scanning the faces over the pages of his book he had been to distracted to truly read. he saw her just in time, and he tossed his book away. he ran through his shop, looking for the perfect flower, disregarding those he deemed unworthy. none of them were good enough, none of them beautiful like her. finally, he plucked a sunflower from its bundle, and he ran out onto the sidewalk.

he stood in her path, but she didn't see him. her eyes were casted down, and she had an earphone in. he stood still, frozen in place. he wasn't even sure how to approach a situation like this not that he stood directly in her path.

his palms sweated and he shifted his feet around. she didn't look up, but she walked right into him. she hopped back a step, panicked.

"i'm so sorry! excuse my rudeness!" she cried, bowing her head.

he laughed lightly, her voice wrapping around him like the vines of a sweet autumn clematis. "don't be sorry, i was the one in your way. i would apologize, but, i'm not exactly sorry since it's given me an actual reason to speak with you."

"what?" she questioned, raising her eyes. they focused on his hands, scanning over the face of the sunflower, then moving to his own eyes.

"i'm akaashi keiji," he said, holding the flower out.

she sucked in a breath, eyes like saucers, before taking the flower from his hands and smiling. "my name is yachi hitoka."