probably-not-haru:
When Haru first spots the brightly colored flora lining the outside of the little flower shop, he feels equal parts angry and confused. Those shouldn’t be here, nor should any of the other plants he can see filling the inside of the nursery. He feels almost like he’d been defied.
He’d cursed all the plants in this town to wither and die. He wanted things to look as dark and dreary as the entrance to the underworld, for the town to feel as cold as he felt inside.
Irked by the fact someone had managed to grow anything despite his curse, Haru marches into the store without much of a plan but half a mind to curse whoever was responsible for the greenery.
He weaves through all of the flora for sale, towards where he assumes the register is, until he spots a large man finishing up with helping an older woman with her purchase.
He’s prepared to smite the man where he stands when he sees that bright smile he gives when he speaks to his plants, and he feels as if Cupid himself had just struck him with one of his arrows when it gets directed at him.
Suddenly any ill will he’d had is gone and all he knows is he wants to see more of that smile and feel the warmth it gives him. He becomes flustered when he realizes he’s been spoken to, no longer having any plan of action.
“Ah… I wanted some of those…”
He points to the first thing he sees which happens to be wisteria. He almost frowns when he looks at them closer. They’re purple and droopy, fitting for his world of gloom. He almost wants to take his words back, to ask for something cheerier like the man before him, but he worries changing his mind might look suspicious and scared the sweet boy away.
“--Oh, the wisteria?” Makoto’s smile brightens as he moves closer, slim fingers reaching out to carefully pluck some stems from large basin that holds them. The flowers are soft where they brush the back of his hand. Delicate. And he can’t help but realize that they suit the man standing before him. Traditional. Their deep purple complimenting the pale skin and ebony hair. Elegant and pretty.
He flushes at his own thoughts; embarrassed. And a little ashamed, to be thinking of a customer in such a way.
“--Wisteria trees often live for over a hundred years,” Makoto comments suddenly, hoping to distract himself before his train of thoughts gets out of line even further than it already has. “--Because of that, they’re thought to represent longevity and immortality. Although, in Kabuki they also have different connotations.”
Pausing suddenly, Makoto’s eyes survey the somewhat large bouquet he’s already arranged, cradled carefully in the crook his forearm like an infant. “--Ah, I’m sorry.” His gaze moves upward once more, an apologetic smile pulling at his lips. “--I didn’t ask how many you wanted. Would this be enough? I can rearrange it, if it’s not to your liking.”
