name: noah iwasaki. age: thirty-one. gender + pronouns: cis man, he/him. birthday: december 27 - capricorn. orientation: bisexual. hometown: coronado. occupation: kagehito flower shop owner. character parallels: giyu tomioka (demon slayer), jane margolis (breaking bad), hamlet (hamlet), wanda maximoff (mcu), dexter morgan (dexter). aesthetics: sharp blades hidden beneath knit cardigans, freshly cut bouquets, and shadows caught between shutters at twilight. often found driving his minivan by day and motorcycle by night.
tw: mentions of death.
i. for what little of his mother he can remember, noah remembers her fondly. despite her inability to keep the house clean or cook a meal without setting the fire alarm off, she’d always tucked him into bed at night, somehow, always smelling of freshly picked flowers. every other memory of her is much less pleasant – a blur of screams and sirens, dark clothes and eulogies, strange smiles and new homes, then another, then another. through it all, no one thinks to ask him what he wants.
ii. he is still too young when they find him, but it takes little to convince him of the kagehito’s mission. after this — they remind him, through the pain, the bruise and broken bones — after this, you will never feel powerless again.
iii. for someone who has nearly forgotten how to care, noah finds something close to home in two other kagehitos. perhaps it’s the shared blood on their hands, or that they’ve simply accepted him as he is, but with them, he feels strangely whole. calloused hands wrap the bandages around his wrist, while another dabs the blood away from his head, and if that isn’t love, he doesn’t know what else it can be.
iv. as easily as love comes, it’s just as easily taken away. one, by their own mistakes – the other, by their own will. noah stays, because he doesn’t know how to do much else. he uses it as fuel, a reminder to himself that to remain in control, that he cannot afford to make those same mistakes.
v. today — he wakes up and takes his unassuming minivan to the markets at six in the morning, picking out the freshest of the flowers to bring back to his shop. practiced hands glide over blades as he trims them into shape, a personal collection of poisonous flowers decorating the back of his store. on paper, this is peace – quiet mornings, good coffee, no one asking questions. for most, and perhaps even for himself, once, that might’ve been enough. but in the stillness of the mornings, he wonders if there was something he could’ve done differently.
his hands remain steady.
TL;DR: friendly, unassuming, externally happy-go-lucky with a genuine love of his flower shop (though on paper, he's barely making enough for rent). kagehito assassin by night - preferred method of completing the contracts are quieter - poison, a clean blade, no bodies found - unless, of course, requested otherwise. thirty-one and questioning the meaning of life.
sharp scissors cut cleanly through green stems with ease, each satisfying snip! releasing the scent of fresh-cut flowers into the shop's quiet air. arranging helps him ease his mind – grounds him in color and texture in a way little else does these days. with so many unexpected changes happening in – and to – coronado, noah finds comfort in the small rituals: a thrifted vase, silk ribbons, and an order of blooms.
he reaches for another stem, lost in the rhythm of his work and the static of the radio in the background, when the faint creak of the door breaks the spell.
he doesn't look up quite yet, his eyes still locked on the flowers on his table. "hi, sorry – i'll be right with you."
