can i peel that for you? @pastelle-rabbit - Tumblr Blog

(Previous) Relationship: Sakura Haruka x Florist!Reader Content Tags: Sick Fic-ish (Reader's getting over a nasty cold), Fluff, Kotoha and Reader tease Sakura, Flirting, Little More Than Casual Affection, Full acceptance of feelings, Koi no yokan, Suo is a (nosy) menace Summary: It's your turn to cancel plans with the group because you caught a cold, and Sakura doesn't hesitate to come through for you. Word Count: 5k

A/N: Here we are! My favorite chapter so far!! This is a fun chapter because 1. I've wanted a reversal this entire fucking time, 2. I've wanted to introduce the cat for a while now, 3. this is part of the scene I've had planned from the start, and 4. because I raked myself over the coals for this chapter repeatedly. I hadn't anticipated the sick part being attached to lilacs, but I think it worked out well this way. Funny, the way that the thought that started this whole thing is at the tail end of an entirely different turn of events. We're past the halfway point for this story now!

My understanding of koi no yokan is that it's more than the simple translation of "premonition of love," or even the description of when you meet someone you feel like you could fall in love with one day. It's that you meet them and love does feel like an inevitability, it's about the potential. It still allows for love to be a choice. As far as I understand it, koi no yokan describes not only the feeling you get when you meet them, but then making the choice to walk down the path to loving them.

Big thanks to @owoasis and @kweenkatsuki-fics for encouraging me~

When your doorbell rings, you expect it to be Kakiuchi with your delivery from the market. The kitten scurries away at the sound, disappearing behind the television stand. Your head throbs when you stand, reminding you that you’re still not quite at a hundred percent, prompting you to slip on your mask. As you near the front door, muffled voices grow clearer, bickering from two people whose presence you hardly expected.

“—even know we’re coming?”

“I sent the mess— Oh.”

“Oh?”

“It… didn’t go through.”

The door opens and both Kotoha and Sakura look up from his phone like deer caught in headlights. As you tilt your head, trying to rationalize their visit, Kotoha straightens, her cheeks lifting under her mask as she raises the bag in her hand. Sakura flushes a deep red and you’re drawn to the two paper bags he carries, tucked in his arm.

“How are you feeling?” she asks, eyes roving over your appearance, lingering on the confused crease between your brows.

Did Sakura intercept Kakiuchi to deliver your groceries himself? You tried telling the group you were feeling better, but did they not believe you? (The head cold has kept you mostly bedridden for the last sixty hours or so).

Your eyes drop to the bag she carries, plastic unlike the paper bags from the market. “Before I answer: is that food?”

Her laugh is loud and warm and you want to nestle inside it. “It is! Apparently you mentioned wanting food and needing more medicine.”

You did mention that, in the group chat between you, Suo, Nirei, and Sakura. Did… Did Sakura bring her along? To make you feel better?

A lump forms in your throat, your eyes growing hot with tears that you refuse to let fall. Clearing your throat, you’re annoyed that your voice still wavers. “I feel like I adore you both very much.”

Sakura tenses and you bet he’d hide his face in his hands right now if they weren’t full. Kotoha, on the other hand, starts laughing, and you don’t know whether she laughs at your evasive response or at Sakura’s reaction.

“All credit goes to Sakura, truth be told.” Her voice is light with laughter. “He came to me asking if I could put something together to help you get over your cold. Ume also came in and asked about you when your shop was still closed.”

“Oh, Sakura, you didn’t—” He never fails to surprise you, always finding new ways to leave you speechless. “Thank you.”

Ducking his head, he tries to hide his blush, peeking at you through his fringe before grumbling, “Just want you to feel better.”

Rather than worry about the fluttering that threatens to set you alight, you move aside, welcoming them into your home. Kotoha enters first, glancing around before removing her shoes in your genkan. Sakura hesitates when he enters, eyes quickly assessing you before turning away, his mask keeping you from reading him completely.

“Can’t believe he knew where you lived before I did,” she says as you lead them through the house. Glancing over your shoulder, you catch the way her attention shifts from Sakura to you. “You two must be closer than I thought.”

“To be fair, Sakura found out where I lived on the first night we met.”

Kotoha pauses in the mouth of your hallway, head turning to watch as Sakura enters your kitchen, moving with obvious familiarity. While he starts unloading the grocery bags, she follows, placing her bag to the right of your stove.

“I almost forgot about that,” Kotoha says. You lean against the entrance to the kitchen, watching as they move in tandem despite their differing goals. Is that from all the times Sakura was dragged into helping with Pothos and the orphanage? “He just had to jump in and play superhero, right?”

“Shaddup! You already gave me grief over that, didn’t you?”

“Like you don’t deserve it, still picking fights after so long.” She turns at your laugh, looking you up and down. “You go sit down. I can figure out my way around your kitchen.”

“Kotoha, I’m feeling—”

“You weren’t feeling fine enough to open the shop today, were you?”

Clicking your tongue, you acquiesce, backing into your living room. “You can’t tell right now, but I’m sticking my tongue at you.”

“Did you know that you grow childish when you get sick?” she asks, pulling a snicker from Sakura.

“So I’ve been told.”

You perch on the edge of your sofa, leaning on the arm so you can watch them in the kitchen despite them being placed firmly behind the wall. After a minute of hearing nothing but the opening and closing of your cabinets and fridge, you grab your blanket from the opposite end of the couch, draping it over your lap before turning your television back on.

Movement captures your attention from the corner of your eye and you find Sakura approaching, concern etched in his features.

“Need anything? Water or somethin’?”

“You’ve already done enough.” He doesn’t budge, staring at you like he’s waiting for your real answer. Such a small gesture threatens to unravel you, causing your breathing to hitch. A second passes, then another, and you keep your voice low in the hopes that you can hide the way it quivers. “Yeah, water would be good.”

There’s a flash of appreciation behind his eyes, lifting the corners of his lips as he nods. Their voices go back and forth when he returns to the kitchen, tones turning combative as they chatter to the rhythm of Kotoha’s cooking.

Something sprouts in your chest, a seed that was planted about a year ago.

Your heartbeat quickens at the realization, that fluttering from earlier returning, something you haven’t fully felt in years. Rather than simply bring you the groceries you needed—something he didn’t even need to do—he brought you a meal. Everyone else took your reassurances at face value, accepting when you told them you’d be fine. So why…?

Discomfort grows the closer you find yourself to the precipice of a revelation, and rather than sit with it, you decide to blame it on the discomfort of simply being tended to—it’s always been your job to care for others, not the other way around. The sensation shifts, pressing against your lungs and pinching your fingertips, though this discomfort is almost preferable.

Calling for the kitten, you’re surprised by the way they both grow silent, allowing you to hear the soft tup-tup-tup of paws coming down the hall. He appears, popping up on the right, jumping onto the arm of the couch before coming to you.

Sakura comes out of the kitchen with a glass of water, immediately zeroing in on the animal in your lap.

“The hell is that?”

Both you and Kotoha start laughing, startling the kitten, and you hold him to keep him from bolting. “What does it look like?”

“I know it’s a cat,” he bites, putting the water on the coffee table instead of offering it to you, eyes never leaving the cat. “Where’d it come from?”

“He found me.” You smile to yourself as he pushes his head into your hand.

Sakura circles around the coffee table, giving the kitten a wide berth even though he joins you at the other end of the couch, the distance feeling greater than usual.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“He kept coming to me over the past month or so, but he finally let me hold him about two weeks ago. Didn’t I mention it in the group chat?”

Though he purrs, he keeps both golden eyes trained on Sakura, wide as they assess this apparent newcomer. Does he recognize Sakura’s scent at all? It’s not like he’s a stranger in your home. Sakura rests his hand on the couch, firmly between you two, a quiet invitation for the kitten without looking like he’s trying. Cute.

The cat keeps dancing back and forth on your lap, attention turning to the offered hand each time he faces Sakura. Finally, he ventures away, stretching his neck like he plans to run the second he gets a sniff.

“Does it have a name?”

Satisfied with sniffing his hand, he tentatively slinks closer, rubbing his cheeks against Sakura’s index finger, glancing up every few seconds. When Sakura lifts his hand, the kitten freezes before accepting it for what it is—an invitation for affection.

The pull of your lips is involuntary. “Mm. Not yet. I haven’t figured out what I want to call him.”

Scratching the kitten’s chin, the hint of a smile appears when the purring starts again. When Sakura’s eyes flick up, that smile disappears. “You let it in your house without giving it a name?”

“Well, I patched you up right outside without knowing yours.”

Kotoha’s laugh rings at the same time that Sakura’s cheeks turn pink. “Th-That’s different.”

“Come to think of it, when he finally let me hold him, his paw was injured.” The kitten turns, waiting for Sakura to scratch his back, only to be left wanting. Dissatisfied, he returns to you, climbing onto your lap. Picking him up, you hold him out from you, looking between the kitten and Sakura. “Maybe you two are related.”

“Hah?! The hell we are! It’s a cat!” His once extended hand comes up as he points to you, indignation fueling his glare.

“Yeah, but look!” Adjusting your hold on him, you show off his paws. “He has little white mittens and golden eyes like yours and—!” Bringing him to your chest, you gasp, pretending to be scandalized. “Sakura!”

“Wh-What?” His eyes flicker behind you and you figure Kotoha’s come into view.

“Did you have a child and not tell me?”

He chokes on his spit as Kotoha chokes on her laughter, more than enough to scare the kitten. He wriggles in your hold and you release him, joining her laughter.

“Wh-Wh-What the hell? The hell possessed you to say somethin’ like that?!”

“It does resemble him, huh?” Kotoha says, finally able to breathe again. She adopts fake disappointment, continuing the bit. “Sakura. And I thought we were closer than that. You should’ve told me.”

“I ain’t got no kids!” He buries his face in his hands, leaning forward as his elbows come to rest on his knees. You honestly can’t tell if he’s frustrated with you two for teasing him or disappointed in himself for allowing it to get this far. (He knows you two are incorrigible together).

“What do you think, Kotoha? Should we name him after his father?”

“I think that’s a lovely idea,” she calls, moving back to the kitchen.

“The hell you will!” He removes a hand, glowering at you when he does, though you feel the heat of his blush more than the heat of his glare. That he doesn’t leave your sofa tells you he doesn’t mind as much as he’s fronting.

“Oh,” you breathe, leaning in, “but Haruka is such a beautiful name.”

At that, he fully collapses, sinking into the corner of the sofa as he drapes his arm over his eyes. He groans, low and miserable while you snicker into your hand. Leaving him be, you take the water he fetched for you, listening to Kotoha as she works, inserting herself into your space as though she’s always belonged.

“I didn’t ask before, but what’d you bring?” you call.

“I originally wanted to make egg congee—it’s my go-to—but Sakura said you like zosui.”

Oh.

In the winter, you mentioned missing your mother’s zosui. You never expected him to remember the throwaway comment. (And here you were teasing him relentlessly).

“You didn’t have to. Your egg congee sounds amazing.” Your heart thumps loudly behind your ribs as you watch him, the steady rise and fall of his chest as he keeps himself hidden.

“He wanted me to put something together that would be easy to heat up, but got worried about burning it and asked me to come.” His arm shifts until he’s covering more of his face. “I don’t mind ‘cause it’s you.”

“Thank you, Kotoha. Thank you, Sakura.”

Though you’re tempted to pull at him, to encourage him to come out from hiding, something keeps you in place. Regardless, he seems to hear it nestled in your gratitude, pulling back enough for you to see his steel blue eye. He relaxes somewhat, though his lower lip still juts out ever so slightly.

“It’s nothin’.”

“It’s everything. Thank you,” you repeat, low enough that only he hears.

His flush returns across his cheeks, but he doesn’t look away.

“You don’t work today?”

“I…” Sighing, he straightens, running his fingers through his hair. “I didn’t work at the restaurant today, but I called out for tonight.”

Blood rushes behind your sternum and there’s a distinct thunk as your heart hiccups. “You didn’t have—”

“I know I didn’t have to.” It’s not a bite or anything remotely aggressive. It’s a reassurance, a surefire way to nourish the sproutling in your heart. “I wanted to.”

Tears well up in your eyes and your vision turns blurry. Sakura jumps, not expecting such a reaction.

“What’d you do?” Kotoha asks behind you. When you turn, she’s setting the pot on the table, immediately rounding on Sakura.

“I didn’t do anything!”

“He didn’t do anything,” you reassure with a pitiful laugh. “I guess I’m still a little extra weepy from the cold. You two are too nice to me.”

“Nonsense. We’re as nice as you deserve. Let us take care of you for once.” Disappearing into the kitchen, she reappears with a bowl, setting it on the table for you. Without saying anything more, she fills a bowl, waiting for you.

“Yeah, okay.” Casting aside the blanket, you pick up the water as you make your way to the table.

Kotoha smiles that smile and you’re reminded of how welcoming she was when you first moved. It drops when she turns to Sakura and the change makes you want to laugh.

“You. You can fetch your own dishware if you’re staying.”

“H-Hey. I wasn’t asking you to make one for me.” Sakura’s voice grows loud, defensive.

“You aren’t sticking around?” you ask, tearing yourself away from what you can only describe as a perfect bowl of zosui.

She sighs. “Unfortunately not. Unlike him, I have to work in a bit.” Stepping back, she turns her head toward the kitchen. “Sakura, I’m counting on you to take care of things. The medicine is on the counter and there’s enough ingredients to make another batch for dinner. I left an easy to follow recipe on the fridge.” Her eyes narrow as she watches you, though her tone turns playful. “If I don’t see you at Pothos tomorrow, I’m blaming him.”

Sakura scoffs as he comes out of the kitchen, bowl and spoon in hand, shooting her a glare as he passes her by. She takes you in again, worry scrunching her brows before it evaporates with your laugh.

“I’ll be sure to get better so he can escape your ire.”

“Don’t do it for him.”

“Alright, alright. Thank you for the food, Kotoha.”

With the energy of the room dying down, the kitten reappears in your periphery, skulking around the perimeter. Sakura’s attention wavers from the food, waiting for you to eat first, a pout appearing when he spots the kitten.

“I expect updates on Sakura’s son. Hopefully he’ll have a name when you come visit me tomorrow.” Stepping into your kitchen again, she grabs her pack. “I’m off.”

It’s not until Kotoha’s at least halfway down your hall that you finally give in and take your first bite, savoring the taste of your childhood. The first couple minutes are spent in silence, you far hungrier than you had thought. The television is a low murmur in the background and it’s only after you reach for a refill that you look up.

Sakura wanted to make sure you were okay. That’s why he’s here now, sitting across from you. You still don’t know how he found out about your groceries, but he grabbed them, and Kotoha, and came by because he wanted to check on you. And he, what? Called out of work to sit with you? Endured your teasing unnecessarily? Remembered a comment you made in passing to do something incredibly thoughtful?

Warmth spreads across your chest and your heart stutters as your fingertips start aching for something that feels just barely out of reach.

He… He’d do this for any of his friends. You’ve simply become one of many irreplaceable people in his life, a comforting thought in itself, but…

“What’re you staring at?”

“Hm? Oh.” You swallow, your eyes dropping as heat spreads across your cheeks. “I was just… Thank you, Sakura. It means a lot that you set this up.”

“You’re not gonna start cryin’ on me again, are ya?” His voice is gentle, if not the least bit wary.

“No. At least, I don’t think so.”

“Good. I don’t… I dunno how to be useful when you get like that.”

“You don’t need to be useful when I cry,” you chuckle. “It’s fine if you’re just there.”

“If you say so.” He returns to his food, struggling to meet your eyes again. “Eat up. You’re not gonna get better if you let your food just sit there.”

This is growing dangerously close to something you don’t know how to handle.

“Oh, my. Who knew fatherhood would suit you so well? Worrying over me like this.” The pang beneath your ribs lessens and you breathe a little easier.

“Cut that shit out. I ain’t worryin’ over you ‘cause of fatherhood or some shit. I worry ‘bout you because—” It’s instantaneous, his blush, completely engulfing him as he freezes, eyes growing wide before his brows furrow the way they do when he wants to blow it off. “I just worry about you, okay?!”

It wasn’t too long ago that you told him the same thing in the same spot he sits now. Is that lost to him, or does it sit as clearly in his memory as it does yours?

“Thank you.” To receive an iota of concern is something lovely in and of itself. Returning to your bowls, the silence is louder than it was minutes ago. After a beat, you ask, “Will you be sticking around?”

(You know his likely answer, but you need to hear it aloud).

“I’m not going anywhere till you tell me otherwise.”

“Even if I asked you to stay on my spare futon?”

Though not as intense, his blush returns, vibrant against his cheeks as he glares at you, pointing with his spoon. “Don’t— Don’t joke about that.”

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t help myself. In that case, do you want to watch a movie or something? Is there a show you’d like to catch up on?”

His eyes flicker to the television. “No. Don’t really watch anything.”

“Ah, that’s right. Mr. Stoicism. Well then, would you mind if we watch one of my favorite movies?”

“Nah, that’s fine.”

Is he agreeing because he doesn’t mind, or because he can’t say no to you?

The question plagues you as you both finish the pot, as he cleans the table and you pull up the movie. The two of you take up the same positions on the couch, more relaxed than before. The kitten joins you as you stretch out and the opening score plays. Every now and then, Sakura’s eyes flick to you and you tease him, telling him to watch the movie.

The kneading of the kitten on your chest lulls you into a state of peace, encouraging the heaviness of your eyes. Closing them for a moment turns into just a minute and you hear Sakura chuckle as you find yourself drifting off. Sleep is mostly restful nothingness punctuated by splotches of color that vaguely follow the scenes of the movie. What little dreams you have feature you and Sakura bickering over flowers in the voices of the actors. When he calls your name, tenderly, as though it’s something to be cherished, it’s in his voice. It’s enough to pull you from your slumber, your heart responding to something not there.

The first thing you see is the kitten, curled up in the crook of his neck, white mittens hiding his face. Next is Sakura, eyes intent on the movie, seemingly enraptured by it. The kitten stretches, partially uncurling as his hind legs come out and Sakura immediately responds to the movement with a panicked expression, his right hand coming up as if expecting the kitten to fall, sighing when he doesn’t.

Behind your ribs, something swells, some warmth that encourages the sproutling to bud. That warmth spreads across your chest, slow as it vines down your arms and across your cheeks. A memory sparks and you’re sure that seed was planted then—your name left his lips, wrapped in the surety of his voice, and part of you knew this would come.

You told yourself once: Sakura Haruka had the potential to be someone important in your life.

As you watch him, white lashes brushing against his cheek before revealing his golden eye, protective in his consideration of the cat that entrusted itself to your care, you’re sure of it. He turns his head, attention falling on you, and your heart squeezes with the acknowledgment of the path you’re choosing to walk.

It takes a second before he realizes you’re watching him right back—his chest rises and doesn’t fall, his lips part but no noise escapes, pink settles high on his cheeks. The two of you stare at each other for a minute and it isn’t until your lungs begin to burn that you realize you’re holding your breath, too.

As you open your mouth, Sakura closes his eyes, brows pinching together. “Don’t— Don’t say it.” His words come out a little pained and you wonder whether he’s finally (somehow) cracked reading your mind.

“Say what?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know.” The kitten moves again, tucking his legs by his head and it serves only for Sakura’s frown to deepen as his eyes screw tighter shut.

“I don’t,” you laugh, suddenly sure he’s not aware of the way you were admiring his beauty.

He inhales, a slow build up to whatever he wants to say, only to exhale, releasing tension you didn’t realize he was holding. Stormy blue and marbled gold search your face before he finally speaks. “Don’t say that this is some— some— some kind of father-son bonding time. It ain’t, okay?”

Your laugh comes without warning, bubbling from your lips unbidden, not loud enough to completely startle the kitten, but enough to rouse him from his slumber. A tired head pops up and looks around before settling on you, prompting him to rise, precariously perched on Sakura’s shoulder until he hops down.

Sakura sulks, his eyebrows relaxing before he turns his face away, watching you from the peripheral. The kitten climbs onto your chest, reclaiming his earlier spot.

“We should probably name him, huh?” you ask.

“‘We?’”

“You’re here, aren’t you?”

“I guess.”

“What about Miso?”

“Miso? You’re gonna name him after food?” Shifting, he rests his head in his left hand, propped up by the arm of the couch.

“Okay, fine. What would you name him?”

“Takeo.” His answer comes without hesitation, like he’s been mulling it over for more than the duration of this conversation.

“Takeo? Warrior? Really?”

“He seems like a fighter.”

“And you say he’s not your son,” you tease, delighting in his quick scowl.

“Shut up!” The tips of his ears go pink as he glares at you, leaving you both to watch each other for a couple minutes in silence. The kitten starts grooming himself, drawing Sakura’s focus, and he asks, “How old d’you think he is?”

“Oh, probably just a couple months. Definitely a spring baby.”

You watch as he turns over your answer in his mind, expression changing with his thoughts—souring before almost rolling his eyes. Again, he inhales like he’s ready to say something, only to let it escape on his exhale. And then— “What about Haru?”

“Haru?” Was he worried about the single character difference between Haru and Haruka in hiragana? It wouldn’t surprise you if he was, if he’s expecting more teasing from you. Sure enough, your lips shape into a slow smile and he holds his breath. “Alright. Haru.”

His exhale comes out more like a pant, hot and a little disappointed, his eyes searching yours. “Really? That’s… That’s it?”

“Is there something wrong with Haru?”

“N-No. Nothin’.” Shaking his head, he turns away from you, facing the television once more. “Okay. Haru.”

His ears remain pink for a while yet, even when he otherwise relaxes into the couch again for a different movie. While it plays, you find yourself drawn to him completely, enjoying his growing reactions to the film. As you watch him, you become certain of the flower that grows, protected by the cage that your ribs provide. Night falls outside, the room growing dark before you feel the need to flick on a light. When you feel the pangs of hunger, he hesitates at the idea of making zosui for you, even with Kotoha’s meticulous instructions, so you two settle on umeboshi onigiri.

As you finish eating, he looks around, turning the slightest bit melancholy. Part of you itches to ask why, to figure out what he sees and what he wants to change, but you bite your tongue, afraid of what he might say. It’s funny, for as long as you’ve known him, you’ve never felt this way—fearful of something that might change the delicate dynamic you two share. And yet, here you are, just afraid enough that it keeps you from asking a question you otherwise would.

Turning to you, his eyes flit across your face, lingering on your lips for a second too long. His lips part, and it almost looks as though he gathers courage with his inhale.

Perhaps you’re lucky and this change, this bloom, isn’t exclusive to you.

“It’s gettin’ late. I should…”

“Yeah, okay.” You stand at the same time he does, watching as he looks around your home. “What time do you work tomorrow?”

“‘M supposed to go in around one, but I might start earlier.”

“Come and visit Hanami before you do.”

His brows pinch in confusion. “What for?”

“I don’t have a flower for you today.”

His eyes close as he huffs out a laugh, the sound coated in disbelief. “You don’t have to give me a flower every time, y’know.”

“It’s a tradition at this point. Just… please?” Fresh lilacs should be getting delivered tomorrow morning. If you don’t do this now, you might scare yourself out of walking this path.

Sighing, his eyes land on you when they open, uncharacteristically soft. It steals your breath and there’s a subtle prick behind your sternum. “Yeah, I’ll be there.”

You follow him to your door, lingering as he slips his shoes back on. (You can lie and say it’s to lock up after he leaves, but you know it’s something else entirely).

Sakura shoves his hand in his pocket when he turns to you, pink tinting his cheeks as he struggles to make eye contact. “I… We can…” Pulling his hand out, you catch the unmistakable way it shapes around his phone, filling in the gaps before he can find the words.

“Sakura, would you… could you call me on your way home?”

The seconds drag on when he looks up, his blush still present, and you feel the infinitesimal shift in the atmosphere.

“Y-Yeah. I’ll call you.”

He leaves, more bashful than when he arrived, and your phone rings. The conversation is light, questions about the movies, about Haru, about the weddings lined up for the month. Your mind goes back to the minute revelations of the day, to the very deliberate choice you’re making, to everything that goes unspoken. Your earlier fear sticks to you like the stench of tobacco and nicotine sticking to the fingers of a smoker, but you weren’t raised to let fear dictate your life.

The following morning, you’re inundated by a backlog of orders, not that you expected differently. Suo anticipates as much, arriving shortly after you open to offer what little help he can. He needles you for answers about the previous day, only to find you to be as forthcoming as he is (it’s been a year and you still don’t know what he does for a living).

Sakura swings by a little before noon, eyes widening at Suo’s presence. His attention remains split between you and his friend. Suo dawdles, hovering in your periphery with a pleased grin until you kick him out of the shop with pink gerbera for his effort. Even still, he waits.

Your heart thunders in your chest when you go to find your lilacs, ringing in your ears when you find Sakura following. As soon as you spot the grouping, beautiful gradient coloration, you know it’s the one. Sakura comes to stand behind you when you move to your work desk and you can’t tell if you feel hot from the message he won’t quite understand or if it’s simply his proximity—doesn’t really matter.

Before you turn, you contemplate telling him the truth of it, only to chicken out and say, “I… wanted to thank you.”

Turning, you find him waiting with an open palm, used to receiving your gifts. “You already did.”

“No, I mean…” Shit. When you give him the purple lilacs, you’re careful not to touch him. It’s difficult enough to even speak without the added stimuli. “You came over yesterday. You called out from work to sit with me and make me feel better. You didn’t need to do that for me.”

He waits for you to look at him, otherwise remaining frozen, and you’re surprised by the intensity in his eyes. “I wanted to.”

“I know. Thank you.”

The words sit on the tip of your tongue, waiting for life to be breathed into them, only to be swallowed. Making your way to the front of the shop, Suo still waits outside, smiling and waving to people as they pass by. He turns at the opening of the door, his grin widening at your deadpan. That smile falters when he sees the lilacs, fully aware of their significance. Instead of looking at you, he watches Sakura, eye scrutinizing him in a way you’ve seen only once before.

“Before you leave for work, could you let Kotoha know I won’t be able to stop by until after I close?”

“Wh— You can’t stop by at lunch?” Sakura’s nose scrunches in annoyance, but his voice lacks conviction.

“I’ll probably be working through it.”

“Fine.”

“Oh, aren’t you agreeable today?” Suo teases, eye dropping to the lilacs again. “You won’t mind if I accompany you to Keisei Street, would you?”

“Wh-Why? Don’t you have somewhere else to be?!” Sakura asks, growing flustered as he marches toward Pothos.

“I think you’ll be more forthcoming than our beloved florist.” Suo glances over his shoulder at you, leaving you to wonder what exactly it his he’s looking for.

At the very least, you can be sure that whatever Suo learns, he’ll keep it to himself.