Thread by @Ao3Riley, Just your garden variety love story*********Dazai frowned down at the piece of [...]

Just your garden variety love story
*********
Dazai frowned down at the piece of paper in his hands, silently regretting his life choices (and not for the first time). Kunikida’s handwriting was clear, legible, giving him no way to pretend confusion just to get out of work that

he didn’t feel like doing. It had been given to him along with a lecture, the contents of which he’d paid absolutely no attention to. He was too used to Kunikida rambling away, complaining about his poor work ethic and not telling him much of anything /new/.

Besides, he’d always

written everything important about a job down, as if he felt Dazai would do it wrong without specific written directions. Really all he was doing was ensuring Dazai ignored him when he shouted.

Both of them worked for a local florist shop. Kunikida ran the books, managed the

accounts for the place, and generally had too much power, if you asked Dazai. Dazai, on the other hand, usually filled in where needed, but only on days when he felt up to coming in to work. He was good with people, so not even Kunikida could complain about him working /in/ the

store with customers present. There were days when the shop had too many deliveries due for Atsushi to handle, and Dazai would be handed a few of /those/ to take care of.

The job suited him well enough, though he could do without the angry lectures.
--
A different florist had

gone under in the last week or so, due to poor management, and the other florists in the area had split up their remaining orders. The ADA had been handed a particularly difficult mess: handling the arrangements for a huge wedding, only all the paperwork for the job had gone

missing (assuming it had existed at all) leaving them with only the name of the customer.

Dazai sighed heavily as he examined the mansion and its sprawling estate, double-checking that he was at the correct address. The place was fairly well-to-do, bustling with activity, and

most definitely matching the address he was given. He sighed again before trudging past the gate and heading for the mansion itself. /Better get this over with./

As he drew closer to the house, Dazai allowed himself to study his surroundings. The place was well-tended, a few

gardeners and groundskeepers scuttling about caring for things and trying to keep out of the way. There were cars parked in the driveway, surrounded by people in suits taking things from the cars into the building, or things from the building back into the cars. From afar, it

resembled an ant colony, to the point where Dazai had to chase away thoughts of the queen ant on her throne with a giggle.

Somehow he worked his way past the suited workers and made his way through the front door, into a large airy foyer. Dazai stepped out of the way of the

suited workers to look around the room in awe. Everything seemed to gleam in perfection, from the marble columns to the gilding on the staircase railings. A plush carpeting in a deep red covered the steps themselves, matching the heavy drapes currently drawn aside the windows and

tied back with a golden cord.

In here there was more noise, more chatter, as the workers spoke to each other to coordinate their efforts. Another, louder voice, gave directions now and then, clearly belonging to a person in charge. For all his efforts Dazai could not seem to

locate the source of the voice, always finding something else to draw his attention as the man stopped speaking. His eyes were on the room’s centerpiece -a small table with a large floral arrangement in the center- when he heard someone speaking next to him.

“Today’s not a good

day for visitors.”

Dazai tore his eyes away from the floral arrangement, dimly noting that some of the flowers had started to fade, to face the speaker. What he saw /there/ had him blinking in surprise. The man was a good head shorter than him, but possessing a presence that

filled the room. His eyes were a piercing blue that held Dazai’s gaze effortlessly. “....I….what?”

“I /said/, today’s not a good day for visitors,” the man repeated, frowning a little. Dazai recognized his voice as the one that he’d identified as the person in charge. “I’m

going to have to ask you to leave.”

“Oh, I’m not here for a social call,” Dazai said with a smile, finally getting his wits about him. “I’m here from the ADA Florists,” he produced a card for the shop from his pocket with a flourish, offering it to the man in front of him.

The man took the card, sparing Dazai his sharp gaze as he looked it over, allowing Dazai the chance to take in the rest of his appearance properly. He too was wearing a suit, though of a finer cloth and cut than the workers around him, the soft maroon color not fighting the

bright red of his hair in the slightest. /He’s stunning/, Dazai thought to himself with a little nervous gulp.

“Ah,” the redhead commented after a moment, tucking the card away in a pocket and turning his attention back to Dazai. “I take it you will be taking over the floral

arrangements for the wedding, then?”

“That’s why I’m here.” Dazai let his smile broaden, hoping he was pouring enough charm on. “Apparently most of the paperwork got lost, so I was hoping to speak to someone and get everything straightened out. Do you have a few minutes?”

The redhead seemed about to answer, his eyes scanning the room as if anticipating trouble, when a woman peered down from the floor above. Her long dark hair had been tied in two loose tails, framing her face in an attractive manner. She noticed the redhead’s attention and

gestured to him, clearly asking him to come upstairs. He sighed. “I’m afraid I’m busy today. I’ll call the shop tomorrow, if that is fine?”

Dazai nodded, suppressing his disappointment. “You have our card.”

“That I do. Thank you for coming by.” The redhead shot him a little

smile and nod before heading for the stairs, joining the woman there and disappearing from sight.

Dazai sighed to himself and headed out once he could no longer see the redhead, taking his time leaving the estate and heading back to the florist shop. Halfway there, he stopped,

realizing he’d not asked for the attractive man’s name. He scrambled to put together all the pieces of information he /did/ have, finally coming up with a horrifying conclusion.

He’d just had a ‘love at first sight’ moment with a man that was getting married soon.

It was the

only thing that made sense. That attractive woman with dark hair must have been his fiancé.

/Isn’t that just grand./

----

Something in how he felt must have showed on his face when he got back to the shop. Tanizaki, the one usually running the front counter, had seen him come

in and hurried over, since the place was currently empty of customers. “Dazai? Are you okay?” While he was soft-spoken and fairly timid in nature, Tanizaki had always proven to be more empathetic than some of the others, which made him ideal for handling customers. He could

provide a sympathetic ear to those getting flowers for a funeral, a helping hand to those looking for something to give a date.

“Yes, I’m fine,” Dazai lied, plastering a smile on his face. He had the feeling Tanizaki wasn’t buying it, and chose to change the subject before he

could press further. “Is the paperwork demon here?”

Tanizaki’s lips twitched in a smile that he was quick to hide behind a sleeve, tugged down to cover his hands. “He hates it when you call him that,” he said softly, amusement tinging his voice. “And no, Kunikida stepped out for

a bit. He should be back soon.”

Another brunet poked his head out of a back room, giving Dazai a pointed look. “Did you get the information we need?”

Dazai sighed. “No, Ranpo, I didn’t.”

The bell above the front door jingled, announcing an incoming customer. Tanizaki spared

Dazai one last concerned look before moving away to deal with the new client and help her find the flowers she was looking for. Inwardly relieved, Dazai headed for the back to the little ‘office’ of sorts where Ranpo had set up.

In spite of how it might look, Ranpo was a valued

member of the shop, thanks in no small part to his ability to read people and know what they were looking for, sometimes before they themselves did. He also held an extensive knowledge of flower language, an art that not everyone believed in, but it helped him match people to the

perfect flowers with very little in the way of information to go off of. But he’d been banned from working the counter after one too many incidents of insensitivity: while he might /know/ how a person felt or what they wanted, his straight-forward way of speaking to them tended

to do more harm than good. Instead, he had a room behind the counter with a window looking out into the main shop and a way to communicate with whoever was working the floor, keeping an appropriate filter between his knowledge and the paying public.

Ranpo disappeared back into

the room once he was certain Dazai was coming to join him, taking a moment to stare intently out into the main shop. “She wants flowers for her mother’s grave,” Dazai heard him say. “Lilies, would be my bet.”

Tanizaki’s voice, suggesting a nice bouquet of lilies, could be heard

faintly before Dazai closed the door behind himself, leaning heavily back against it and closing his eyes, taking a moment to regain his composure. “Slow day?” He asked idly.

“No different from any other,” Ranpo shrugged, dropping back into the room’s only chair and putting his

feet up on his table, green eyes locked on Dazai. “Don’t make me interrogate you.”

Dazai smiled faintly, finding a place to perch on the edge of another table. “I still say you went into the wrong profession,” he teased. “You should have been a detective.”

“And get called

‘flower boy’ by everyone else in the office behind my back? Pass.” Ranpo waved a hand. “Are you going to tell me why we don’t have the information you went to fetch, or would you like me to analyze /you/?”

Dazai made a face, knowing that wasn’t an idle threat. “I went, I swear.

The place was swarming with workers. One of the family saw me, and I gave him the shop’s card, told him why I was there… He said he’d try and call tomorrow.”

“Ah.” Ranpo peered over his glasses at Dazai, clearly understanding there were things Dazai wasn’t saying. Much to

Dazai’s relief, he didn’t press further, seeming satisfied with the answer to his question. “I suppose you’re done for the day, then?” It was phrased like a question, but with Ranpo, he already knew the answer.

“Yeah, I think so.” Dazai answered anyways. Conversations with Ranpo

got boring if they just stared and smiled at each other, after all. “Unless you want me to cover for /you/.”

Ranpo’s gaze, which had settled on the cafe across the way and clearly visible from his chosen seat, whipped back to Dazai so fast he probably had a bit of whiplash.

“Wha-”

“I can cover for you while you give mister tall, dark, and brooding a flower or two,” Dazai smirked, feeling a little better after turning the tables. He could mope about his problems later. “Assuming you’ve figured out what flower to give him, of course?”

Ranpo

scrunched up his face, trying not to scowl. He’d made no secret of his frustration, at least not to those few who dared venture into his office during the day. For months now he’d seen the same attractive man sitting in the cafe across the way, spending several hours each day at

the same time in a little table at the window, always alone. The man had piqued his curiosity in ways no one else had, and Ranpo had found himself at a loss. For everyone else he’d met, he could find appropriate flowers to give them, to represent them. The problem of this man

baffled him. “It’s not /my/ fault he’s difficult,” Ranpo snapped.

“Oho? Is he being difficult, or are /you/ being dense for once?” Dazai teased. “Maybe I’ll go ask for his name for you, hmm?”

“He’s a begonia,” Ranpo fired back. “Maybe a marigold. And I don’t like it.”

“A..what

now?” Dazai blinked, scrambling to remember what he knew about those flowers.

Already mildly irritated, Ranpo launched into one of his many lectures on flower language to explain, in his own special condescending way, /exactly/ what both of those flowers meant and why it was so

important that people have an understanding of the flowers that they bought and handed out willy-nilly without a care for their meaning. Out of the corner of his eye, Dazai saw Tanizaki wince and tug the earbud out of his ear, putting it away in a pocket so he could focus on work

rather than the lecture.

Dazai had never been so happy to see Kunikida as he was a few minutes into the lecture. WIth a smile and a quick, “gotta go, Kunikida’s here,” he made his escape, leaving Ranpo behind to stew over his love of flower language alone.

--end ch1--

The next day, Dazai didn’t show up to work at the florist shop. None of the workers there found this strange: Dazai had a bad habit of only working when he felt like it, and none of them relied on him showing up to get anything done. It hadn’t stopped them from functioning like a

well-oiled machine yet, after all.

So when a short, red haired man in a finely tailored suit and hat entered the shop, Tanizaki moved to greet him normally, welcoming him to the shop. “Welcome! Do you know what you’re looking for? I’m happy to help.”

The man produced a card

from his pocket. Tanizaki recognized it as belonging to the store. “A man stopped by yesterday,” the redhead said, “and he left me this. Yesterday was busy, but I have a little time today. Is he here?” Blue eyes scanned the shop, as if the man he was looking for would pop up to

say hello.

“Ah, you mean Dazai?” Tanizaki guessed. “No, he’s not in today.”

“I see.” There was a flicker of disappointment on his face, quickly stuffed away.

“I could call him, if you’d like, Mister…?” Tanizaki offered.

“Nakahara. Nakahara Chuuya,” the man waved the offer

off. “No, don’t bother if it’s his day off. Is there someone else I can speak to, so we can get this straightened out?”

“Uh-” Tanizaki shot a look back at the room in the back and the brunet inside. Ranpo shrugged and pointed towards the back, a lollipop in his hand. “I believe

Kunikida would be able to help you best,” he said, a note of relief in his voice. “Shall I fetch him?”

“Please,” Chuuya nodded. Tanizaki bobbed his head before darting off to the back, leaving Chuuya alone in the front of the shop. He let his gaze wander, inspecting the flowers

on display. He’d moved to inspect a bunch of soft pink flowers when heard another voice pipe up beside him.

“Those are camellias.”

Chuuya shifted to look at the new speaker, meeting an intense green gaze. There was a smile on his face, the kind that said he knew something you

didn’t, and it unnerved Chuuya a little. “...I see.”

“These express a ‘longing for you’, when given as a gift,” Ranpo continued, as if Chuuya hadn’t said anything at all. “At least, the pink ones do. Do you have someone in mind for them?”

“I-” Chuuya was saved from answering

the pointed question with the reappearance of Tanizaki, a taller blond man in tow. “...excuse me.” Ranpo let him leave, though his gaze lingered knowingly for several long moments.

“You’re here for the Oda-Ozaki wedding?” Kunikida asked when Chuuya joined them. At the answering

nod, he seemed to relax a little. “I guess that slacker is good for /something/. I’ll get to the point and not take up too much of your time, if you’ll follow me?”

/Slacker/? Chuuya didn’t voice his question, instead nodding and following Kunikida back to his office, freeing up

the front for Tanizaki to deal with another customer who’d entered while they spoke. In the office, Kunikida asked a flurry of questions, all of which Chuuya had needed to answer before and had a ready response to.

When they’d finished, Kunikida seemed satisfied with the filled

paperwork before him. “Wonderful. Now we know what we’re doing.”

“Glad I could help.” Chuuya got to his feet, hesitating a moment before speaking again. “If you need any other information, you can send...Dazai, was it?...to the house. I’ll let our staff know he’s to be

admitted.” He looked away briefly. “And if I’m not available to answer questions, one of my sisters can.”

“Ah,” Kunikida made a face. “Well, I don’t think we’ll have many questions. You have our information if there’s any questions or concerns. Please don’t hesitate to call.” At

Chuuya’s nod, Kunikida moved to open the door and walk him out.

Ranpo watched Chuuya leave, a curious expression on his face. “Things are about to get interesting,” he commented idly. Tanizaki, the only one who heard, winced. The barely restrained glee in Ranpo’s voice spelled

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