GIVING THE TOKREV CHARACTERS FLOWERS
includes: ran, rindou, kazutora, hanma, inui, kokonoi, chifuyu, mitsuya, sanzu, naoto
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HAITANI RAN
“Stop looking at me like that,” you frown, “just close your eyes.”
And Ran knows he should be good and listen. But there’s something so amusing about doing the opposite of what you want, and before he knows it, he’s peering into your face with a lazy smirk.
“Aw, c’mon. I know you want me, (Y/N). There’s no need to be so ashamed.”
A warning look flashes across your face.
Ran sighs. He backs up, lanky posture surely making his movements all the more comical, with his hands held in easy surrender. “Alright, alright.” He makes a show of closing his eyes, although there’s a thin sliver of light he lets breach past his lashes. “There. Happy?”
Apparently not.
He laughs as you press his eyelids shut yourself.
So cute.
He leans into your touch, intuitively chasing your wrist to press light kisses to your skin. “Hurry up, baby. You, of all people, know I don’t like being kept waiting.”
“So impatient,” you sigh, brushing a wisp of lavender hair from his forehead. “Hold out your hands.”
It can’t hurt to push a little more, can it?
“It’s not my hand that needs attention,” Ran tries, only for you to scold him.
“You’re so annoying, Haitani.”
Despite your irritated facade, Ran hears the affection behind your voice. Hears the playful lilt behind “Haitani”, feels the gentle way you uncurl his fingers from his palm. Feels the kiss you press to his cheek (which, from his long-exposure to hook-up culture should mean nothing) warms his heart–embarrassingly, so.
“There. You can look now.”
What’s so special about this gift that his eyes need to be closed? He starts to grin slyly, only to blink at the roses in his hand.
“You got me flowers?”
“Nice observation, asshole.”
Ran looks up to see you grinning, nearly bubbling over with excitement. “Like them?”
Not only are you cute; you’re also a thief. Ran tries demanding his air back, tries summoning the words that come so easily, but he’s left standing in front of you with stunned eyes and a flush carefully creeping up his cheeks.
“You really love me, don’t you?” He tries, scraping at old pick-up lines to save his skin.
“Silly. I’ve always loved you, Ran.”
His mouth parts. You’ve … never said it back before.
He slings an arm over his face, embarrassed at the vulnerability overshadowing his silvertongue.
“Don’t,” he mumbles, only to feel your hands tugging at his. “Told you already. I’m no good for you.”
“Don’t hide.” The lilt in your voice nearly resembles his. “Want to see your pretty face, Ran.”
That does it. He scowls. “You’re so dead.”
“Only if you catch me, first!”
HAITANI RINDOU
“For you!”
Rindou stares at the flowers in your hands. He feels the exact moment that giddy, i'm-on-top-of-the-world dopamine boost from teasing you drains away, leaving him speechless.
Leaves him floored into something else entirely, something he just can’t place his finger on.
He blinks slowly, eyes traveling from the wildflowers to the expression across your face.
“For me?” And ugh. He doesn’t mean for his voice to sound so quiet.
Guilt wraps its hands around his throat and squeezes hard. He kicks himself internally.
Because he hates the way your outstretched hand starts trembling, and he knows it’s all from the silence stretching tendrils in spaces everywhere between the two of you.
At your careful nod, Rindou feels his heart soften.
You got flowers for him? Someone like him?
It’s something so sweet–unexpectedly so. He doesn’t know how to react.
Ran never taught him anything like this, but he wracks his mind for knowledge anyso: how to respond when the person you love gets you flowers?
Don’t mess up, don’t mess up, don’t mess up.
He’s taking too long. And then, in that same quiet voice: “Did you pick them?”
“Yeah,” you whisper, eyes downcast. “I wasn’t sure if you liked flowers. Really, Rin, it’s okay if you don’t–”
“I want them.”
The certainty in his voice surprises him. It’s funny–the thought of you taking those flowers away irks him more than not knowing what to do.
He steps closer, hand gently cradling your neck as he presses you into his chest, his chin resting atop your head. “They’re purple.”
“I thought of you because they’re your–”
“–favorite color,” Rindou finishes. The realization makes him sigh. “You.” He rubs gentle circles into your skin. “You’re gonna be the end of me.”
As you clutch the lapels of his suit and lean closer to his chest, Rindou wraps his arms around your waist. He presses a kiss to your hairline. “Thank you,” he whispers. “I love them.”
“Really?”
“Really. I think,” he murmurs, suddenly shy, “I think I’ll show them off at work. Show everyone how lucky I am. Think they’ll look nice next to my window?”
The happiness radiating from you at his words makes his face scrunch. You’re turning him soft, aren’t you? Strangely, he doesn’t seem to mind.
HANEMIYA KAZUTORA
“People buy each other flowers?” Kazutora mumbles, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I don’t think so. Might just be something in the movies.”
Out the corner of his eye, he watches you furrow your brow.
“Really? You’ve never seen couples give each other flowers?” You tilt your head. “You know, like tokens of affection?”
“Nope.” Kazutora hopes this conversation ends soon. An itchy sort-of-feeling begins consuming him–you’re about to drop something over his eyes, he just knows it. “None of my friends got any game.”
“Your parents?”
Ah. There it is.
Kazutora looks to the side, darkly. “My father doesn’t deserve flowers.” And then, under his breath, “especially not from my mother.”
He shrugs, turning to you casually. “What about you? People get you any flowers?”
The sad expression on your face makes him wince. Half-of-him wants to reach out and take your hands: apologize, get on his knees for forgiveness, convince you there’s nothing to be upset about.
The other-half … he won’t speak it out loud.
“Once or twice,” you say, quietly, “but let’s not talk about it anymore.”
And he doesn’t. You don’t.
Not until now.
Kazutora wonders why the voice calling him now sounds so familiar. Nostalgia, huh?
The way you tumble out the car to rush toward him feels strangely cliche. But he doesn’t mind. Not really. Not when he melts into your arms after years of no-contact. Not when he breathes in and you smell just like he remembers–but better, he thinks–“your shampoo,” he murmurs, into your hair, “it smells nice.”
What are you … what are you doing here? He doesn’t want to let you go.
Your laughter in his ears sounds heavenly. “I remember you liked it. I went down memory lane trying to remember what brand it was.”
Kazutora’s eyes widen. “You did that, for me?”
“Of course, I did. You mean a lot to me.” With that, you gently press a handful of yellow tulips into his hands. “These are for you.”
Kaztuora looks at the flowers in stunned stupor. “What?” The words feel slow to form. He’s buffering, literally. Just glances at you in shock, hoping you can somehow tell what he’s feeling. Lucky for him, he thinks you do.
“I don’t know if you remember,” you start, “but we talked about flowers when we were kids.” Your face softens. “So, I wanted to get you some.”
Is that look … is it because of him?
He feels his eyes watering, feels his lips trembling. He hugs you tighter, burying his head in your shoulder.
“I missed you,” he blurts out, like it’s the only thing he can say. “I really … missed you. You know that, right?”
The fond smile tugging at your mouth makes his heart warm. Everything feels softer, in your arms. God. He missed this.
HANMA SHUJI
“What’s this?” Hanma teases, towering over you. “Some fucker got you flowers?”
He doesn’t wait for a response, only snatches them out your grasp to examine them closer. And he won’t admit it, would never, but the very thought of someone sweeping you off your feet fills him with absolute disgust.
“You like this sort of stuff?” He turns to you, curious. “I’d treat you right, sweetheart. Get you flowers like this every day. Give me a chance, how ‘bout it?”
Why are you sighing, now?
You step on his foot, hard. “Shuji.”
“I like that. ‘Shuji’. Sounds nice coming from you. Say it again.”
“You’re such an ass. I wanted to give those to you myself.”
Hanma stares at you, stunned. He isn’t fast enough to catch himself, not nearly, but he quickly eases a charming smile out his lips. “Can’t ever assume things with you, huh?” He grins, nudging your chin up. “I like it. You’re mine, now.”
“Nope.”
Hanma’s pleased to see the same wicked expression reflected right at him.
“I would be,” you continue, “but you stole those flowers from me.”
“So? You wanna teach me manners, now?”
“So, you’re mine.”
Oh … he gets it now. You’re tricky.
Hanma chuckles, then throws his head back in laughter. He regards you with an appraising look.
“Alright,” he says, softly, dangerously, running his thumb against your bottom lip. “I could get used to it.” His grip against your chin wanders down to your neck. “You really won’t be mine?”
“No,” you repeat, and Hanma thinks you’re much too pleased with yourself, “this is more fun.”
“Okay, I’ll play along.” His hand tightens; a mischievous warning. “I’m yours … for now.”
INUI SEISHU
Inui wakes to flowers tickling his cheek. A subtle hint of blue in his vision. He blinks to a bouquet resting atop your nightstand, still fresh and wrapped in plastic.
He frowns. It wasn’t there the night before; he’s sure of it.
“(Y/N)?” He walks into your kitchen, gingerly holding the flowers.
Lilacs, he thinks. Pretty like you. One second; he’s fine. In fact, you should vase them. They might start to wilt.
But … when did you have the time to get these? He isn’t sure. He knows, for a fact, you fell asleep first last night. And normally, you don’t wake much earlier than eight.
His eyes fall to the tag. Times New Roman font. I love you.
It’s 8:15.
Uneasiness creeps into him and stabs everywhere it touches. Someone else bought these for you. Who got you these?
Kitchen-sounds and something warm sizzling on the stove.
A cold feeling sinks its way through his bones. As soon as he meets your gaze, Inui feels the heaviness, all at once. It starts like pendulum swinging. Emotion off; smile forced; breath held.
“Hey, who’s this from?”
Your gaze alternates between the flowers and him with perplexion. “Me?”
Inui follows your gaze, glancing down at the bouquet. He can’t stop the hurt wincing across his features. Not heartless enough, he thinks. “You got yourself a bouquet that says, ‘I love you’?”
If possible, the look upon your face turns even more confused. “What?” Your eyes sweep across his face.
You don’t look like you’re lying.
All at once, your lips pursue in realization. You’re setting things aside, quickly rushing toward him to cup his face in your palms.
Despite it all, Inui melts into your hold. Your skin feels so soft against his.
“Oh no, Shu. I got them for you.”
Oh. The tension hollows from his shoulders like reverberation from a plucked violin string.
He looks down at the bouquet again, then at your genuine expression. Guilt fills all spaces until it’s the only thing he can think of. Only thing he can feel.
“I’m so sorry,” he mumbles. “I thought.” He can’t bring himself to finish.
How could he think something so awful? You’re not Koko. He needs to get it through his head.
“No,” you interrupt, gently brushing a lock of hair behind his ear, “don’t apologize.” The sincere look in your eyes makes him weak in the knees. “I should’ve added your name.”
Your arms wrap around his waist. “Seishu, look at me.”
He obliges, lip wobbling despite his attempts to smile.
“There’s only you. I promise.”
“I don’t want you to think I don’t trust you,” he whispers. “I do. I just. I just–”
“It’s easy to feel like you’re the wrong person?”
How do you know that?
You're already resting your hand against his neck, a gentle nudge to guide his head to the crook of your shoulder. You press a kiss to his temple. “Love you, Seishu. Love you so much.”
KOKONOI HAJIME
“You weren’t supposed to buy me flowers,” Kokonoi scolds, fussing with the scarf around your neck. “I already told you not to empty your wallet on me. Don’t you listen?”
The laugh from your lips sounds heavenly. You wrap your arms around his waist with a beam. “Don’t worry, Koko. I stole them.”
If possible, Kokonoi thinks his eyes might pop out their sockets. “You what?” He sighs, affectionately smushing your cheeks together with his palms. “Tell me why you decided to go and do something so stupid.”
You laugh gleefully. “I just borrowed them from my neighbor. They steal tangerines from me all the time, so I thought I’d return the favor. That’s all.”
Kokonoi can’t deny the smirk spreading across his lips. He shakes his head, lightly swatting the flowers against your face. “And what am I supposed to do with stolen goods? You got collateral for me?” He presses a kiss to the spot in between your eyes. “What if those neighbors hunt me down and demand them back? What then?”
“So many questions, Koko.” You hug him tighter, stepping even closer. “You can admire them? Smell them? Think about them late at night when I’m not with you and ja–”
Kokonoi groans. “You’re done.”
“Wait, wait! And I’ll get you more flowers. I’ll get you so many flowers you get tired of them. And next time I won’t steal them, I’ll just use your money–”
“That’s … also stealing,” Kokonoi interjects dryly. “From me.”
You flick his earring. “Anyway, what about me? What do I get for being such a nice person?”
He sighs, rolling his eyes. “Always an ulterior motive with you, hm?” He presses his lips to your forehead, clutching the flowers closer to his chest. “Now get off me.”
“Don’t want to.”
Kokonoi grumbles underneath his breath. He wraps his arm around your waist, then readjusts the two of you so he can easily access the kitchen counter. “Your loss. Guess you really won’t be getting anything.”
He slips the flowers into a vase, carefully adjusting the blossoms as they fall into the glass. He knows you’re watching, knows sentimentality softens the edges of his eyes, but he can’t bring himself to wipe away that sweet smile gently tugging at his lips. In fact, he doesn’t want to.
MATSUNO CHIFUYU
Chifuyu blinks as you lightly bop him on the head with a bouquet. That isn’t for him, is it?
He stares at you blankly, but based on the knowing grin on your face, he knows he’s shit at concealing the excitement bubbling behind his casual front.
“For you, ‘fuyu!”
He won’t lie, he imagined a moment like this before. A younger him gazing at the portrait of his late-father, belatedly wondering if his mother got him flowers before he passed. She must’ve … right? He hopes so. Wondering if he’d get flowers, one day, too.
Now staring back at you, he pretends to wave them off, partaking in some dance around lightly refusing the gift until it’s finally socially acceptable for him to take them off your hands.
“You didn’t have to,” Chifuyu starts, but he knows he’s smiling far too much to look any-sort of humble. “Are you sure you don’t want them?”
“Chifuyu,” you laugh, “I think you’ll explode if I keep them from you any longer.” You push the flowers back into his hands, placing yours on top of his. “It’s a gift. For you.”
He feels like floating. Or something. It feels like he is. Is he? Chifuyu knows he shrugged off the possibility of romance for so long, and now that it’s finally happening, it doesn’t quite feel real.
You’re talking now. Lips moving, sweet voice saying something he struggles to conceptualize. “–got them from the farmer’s market, and I thought of you because–”
Chifuyu can’t help it. He hugs you tightly with one arm, making sure to keep the flowers out of squishable-reach.
“You’re the best. Like, actually the best.” He already knows the perfect place for them. He’ll split the bouquet in half, put one-half in a vase near his bedside table, the other on his dining table.
“It’s a bouquet of baby’s breath,” you continue, cheeks smushed into his chest. “I thought they’d look pretty in your apartment. Plus, they’re my favorite, and I wanted to give you something I love.”
Chifuyu doesn’t think you can make him any happier. Can you feel his heart? It’s so warm. Just for you. All for you.
“Let me return the favor, yeah?” He plucks a flower from the bouquet and nervously tucks it behind your ear. “I want to give something to the person I love.”
MITSUYA TAKASHI
“You sure know how to sweep a guy off his feet,” Mitsuya teases, holding the flowers close to his chest. “Really pulling out all the stops, too.”
It’s cute, watching you try to quell the embarrassment surely arising from his words. “No,” you try, putting on a brave face, “just wanted to do something nice. No big deal.”
“Ah,” Mitsuya grins, “that’s a shame. Was gonna ask you to dinner tomorrow night.”
You nearly whine, pressing your hands to your face. “Oh my god, you’re so–agh.”
“You see,” he continues, almost smugly, “there’s this person who just got me flowers. My favorite, actually. I really like them, but they just see me as a friend.”
He gently tilts your chin up, to face him. “Said they were just doing something nice, by giving me these flowers. But they’re so cute. Despite what they say, I’ve got a feeling they might like me back. Think I’ve still got a chance?”
Your mouth parts. You stare at him incredulously, then nod shakily. “I think you’ve always had a chance.”
Mitsuya can’t stop the smile that crosses his face. It’s bright, maybe a little too bright, but he can’t help it.
“Alright,” he says, and he’s amazed he’s still got his cool, because his heart feels like it’s about to fly out his chest, “tomorrow at five. I’ll pick you up.”
And before you leave, he’s running back to you, reaching for your hand. “Wait.”
The hopeful look you send him makes him flush, and he grins cheerfully. “I’ll be getting you flowers next time. Just you wait.”
SANZU HARUCHIYO
“Gotta throw these fucking weeds out, Haitani.” Sanzu picks up a bouquet on the center-table with two fingers. “Gross. Did Valentine's Day come early, or some shit?”
He doesn’t miss the deadpanned stare you send his way. “Haruchiyo, those are roses.”
“So? It’s July.”
Haitani Ran appears out of nowhere to snatch the bouquet from his grasp. “Get your fucking hands off,” he warns, “those are mine. Don’t touch what isn’t yours.”
“Sore spot?” Sanzu raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “Didn’t know you were such a sentimentalist.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Ran glowers, clutching the roses possessively to his chest. “Get outta my sight.”
“You’ll regret that.” He steps toward Ran, only pausing when your hand tugs against his suit.
“C’mon,” you murmur. “He’s ugly. Isn't worth it.”
Sanzu’s hand immediately wraps around your waist, tugging you flush to him. “Let’s dip,” he mutters lowly into your ear, “Can’t stand him.”
Out in fresh air, he runs a hand through his hair. “What’s the big deal?” He turns to you. “Never thought he’d get so worked up over nothing.”
You sigh, reaching for his hand. “Should’ve done this sooner, huh?”
“Done what?” The look on his face nearly resembles a pout. “You know something I don’t? If you’re keeping secrets with Haitani, I won’t be happy.”
“So jealous,” you sigh, covering his eyes. “Don’t peek and wait here. I’ve got a surprise for you.”
“Whatever,” Sanzu mutters, “just come back soon.” He watches you disappear into a shop, then waits outside, scuffing the sidewalk with the soles of his shoes.
You reappear in front of him with a giddy smile. “Look, aren’t these pretty?”
Sanzu blinks, bewildered at the bouquet of pink flowers in your hands. “What the hell is this?”
The laugh creases against your eyes. You swat him, lightly. “They’re peonies. Wanna know what they mean?”
“No.”
You tell him anyway. “Love, beauty, happiness.”
Sanzu scoffs, rolling his eyes. “You don’t need flowers to confirm that. I could’ve told you that myself.” He straightens up, tugging you closer to him. “You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.” He flicks your cheek. “There. Next time you’re feeling sad, just ask.”
“No,” you laugh. You brush a lock of hair behind his ear. “Got these for you, baby.” The sweet look on your face makes him flush. “You’re beautiful and make me happy.”
Sanzu scowls. He snatches the flowers before you can finish, simultaneously wrapping his arm around your waist just so his face can’t be seen clearly by you.
“Let’s go,” he grumbles, “you’re the fucking worst.”
He doesn’t allow you to mention the bright blush lighting up his cheeks, or the stupid smile tugging at his lips as the two of you head home.
TACHIBANA NAOTO
Naoto sighs, eyes half-lid and exhausted. He leans back in his chair, loosely unbuttoning his collar with one hand as he thinks of the amount of overtime he plans to put in this week.
There’s still so much to cover, and with Takemichi wandering around somewhere in the past, Naoto needs to learn everything, just in case.
A knock sounds on his door.
Naoto barely reacts. “What is it?”
You peer through the door, eyes widening as you take in his appearance. “Sorry, am I bothering you?”
Naoto straightens back up, attentive. “Not at all.”
He glances at your state in concern. “It’s late. Go home. I told you to rest and take care of yourself.”
His words must ignite something in you, because you huff in irritation and walk straight to his desk. “You’re one to talk, Tachibana. You look like you’ll pass out on us anyday, now.”
Your check his forehead temperature, mutually concerned. “You’re burning up. Come on, go home.”
He blinks, stunned. “That’s not important.” But he can’t deny it; he’s softening into your touch. Your skin feels so cool against his. Relief he didn’t know he needed. Didn't know he wanted.
“Alright,” your face sets in determination. “I’ll go home when you go home.”
Naoto’s eyes widen. “No–”
“–yes. You’re sick, I’m telling you.” You shift, bashfully. “Anyway, I didn’t come here to nag you.”
With a breath for bravery and the sweetest smile tugging at your lips, you quickly push a bundle of flowers into his face. “For you!” you say, already on your way out. “Don’t work too hard, Tachibana.”
You got him flowers?
They’re gorgeous. Are they really … for him?
“Wait,” he starts, pushing past his desk to grab the sleeve of your wrist, “wait, please.” He holds the flowers gingerly, almost fearful he’ll do something wrong, hold them wrong, maybe? Is that a thing? He isn’t sure. “I appreciate it, but what for?”
“You’re always working so hard,” you murmur, clearly embarrassed, “so I wanted to get you something small. Don’t forget to take care of yourself, too.”
Naoto’s smiling. It starts in his eyes, but even he can’t help the expression from softening his normally heavy-set features. Do you realize you’ve mirrored his words? It’s sweet. Cute, even.
“Alright,” he says, eyes twinkling, “one hour. Get whatever you need done, and then we’re both going home.”
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